


If There Was Nowhere To Land (I Wouldn't Be Scared At All)

by JamesJohnEye



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Gen, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesJohnEye/pseuds/JamesJohnEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, Aaron Hotchner saved a little girl from a storm cellar filled with darkness. Now, in order to keep his team safe and sane, he needs to collect that debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her name is Alison

**Author's Note:**

> Story title is taken from; Florence & the machine - Falling.  
> Anything you recognize isn't mine. I don't have a beta, English isn't my first language; any and all mistakes are mine. If you spot one, please let me know.

 

* * *

 

 

“Everyone has talent.

What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads”  
  
Erica Jong

 

* * *

 

It’s almost midnight when three black SUV’s come to a screeching halt in front of an old farmhouse. The doors open and several agents jump out of the vehicles; drawing their weapons and flicking on flashlights. Their eyes flash over the surroundings; there’s nothing but darkness for miles and miles. A serial killers perfect hide-out, they all realise. Their grips tighten on their guns: it’s why they’re here.

One agent takes the lead; his pale skin is eerily white under the moonlight and the black hair drowns in the darkness of the farmlands. He walks carefully, slightly crouched, with his eyes on the windows of the house. The lights are on inside; there’s no movement.

He makes a circle with his finger. Two team members break away from the group; carefully making their way to the other side of the house, their guns on the various windows at all times. There’s only silent communication; hands movement meaning _go_ , _go_ , _wait_ and _crouch_.

The team reaches the front door and the black-haired agent counts to three silently before touching the doorknob and finding the door unlocked. It swings open when he pushes it slightly. He glances at his team before moving into the house.

The only sound in the house is the rustling of their clothing, the sound of careful footsteps on wooden floors. The lead agent moves fast, clearing room after room, constantly relying on the cover of his team. They open doors he passes, clearing cupboards and closets.

The house is empty.

‘Oh my God. Aaron, come look at this.’

The agent turns and follows the voice to a room on the side. There’s nothing in it, except for ornaments on the wall. One of his agents who’d entered from the back, a young woman who’d just joined the team, stands in the middle of the room; gazing at the ornaments. Her mouth is open in a silent gasp while she stares up at the ceiling.

Aaron lifts his gaze to see the heads of several missing children, pinned to the wall. Empty eyes stare back at him. There’s blood on the walls from where it leaked down. Some have golden nameplates just beneath the heads; ‘Nancy’ one says. ‘Jim’ is another. It reminds Aaron of the little plaques his grandfather used to have beneath the heads of his deer. Memorials of his hunting skills.

‘He’s a hunter,’ Aaron says without thinking about it.

The woman looks at him with disgust.

‘They’re trophies,’ Aaron says with a nod to the children’s heads. He lowers his assault rifle. ‘There’s something wrong, he wouldn’t leave this place. Do we have the floor plan?’

‘We checked every inch of this house; it’s clear.’

‘Is there a basement?’

‘N-no,’ the woman says. Her gaze shifts back to the victims heads, her concentration wavering. ‘At least, there wasn’t any on the map and we found no hatch or way down.’

Aaron frowns and taps against his ear; activating his connection with the technical analyst back at the base. ‘John, has there been any renovation been done on this house?’

‘Well… The roof was fixed after the tornado of-‘ John began.

‘No, anything that…’ Aaron interrupts and he frowns. ‘Tornado?’

‘Yes sir, there was a massive tornado about seven years ago. Inhabitant was unharmed. Most of the roof and…’

‘Is there a storm cellar?’

‘There is,’ John says slowly, buying time while Aaron listens to the rhythm of keystrokes. ‘It’s at the edge of the property though, not at the house itself. South-side.’

Aaron takes off running, his boots wreaking havoc on the oaken floorboards. His team members follow suit, each claiming their respective places behind and besides him. The cold night air hits them while they run through the fields, chilling the sweat on their backs.

It takes them several minutes to locate the well-hidden hatch leading down to the storm cellar. There is a new lock on it but it is open. Aaron takes a moment to let his team catch their breath.

‘SWAT team Alpha, moving in,’ he says quietly into his communicator before pulling the hatch open. One of his team members goes in first, down a small row of steps. They flick their flashlights on and follow him.

It smells musty down there: the smells of the earth, the last smell before being buried alive. There are three rooms: the team splits up. Heavy boots shatter simple locks, deep voices echo their identity while doors swing open.

Aaron hangs back as his team clears the rooms. He listens to John who quietly tells him about the lay out and details of the cellar. The team on the right clears the room first; one of the younger team members comes out with his hand folded over his mouth, gagging and trying to climb out of the cellar as quickly as possible. His partner follows seconds later, looking grim and leaving bloody footsteps on the concrete floor as he joins Aaron.

‘He killed them there. We found the bodies.’

Aaron nods. The room on the left is cleared next; just an empty storage room. Then voices come from the middle room. Aaron shoulders his assault rifle and carefully steps forward, ready to back his team up. He opens the door slowly, not wanting to cause panic by making any sudden moves.

A man stands in the middle of the room. Aaron recognises him from the pictures of their briefing; their main target. _Locate and neutralise: any means necessary_. The man holds a knife to his own throat. Blood flows down his neck, his shirt is already soaked. The knife seems sharp as it easily cuts through skin, again and again and again.

Aaron frowns, the man is dead but his hand moves steadily, cutting through flesh and bones.

‘Sweetheart, look at me,’ one of the team member is sitting on the floor. His riffle lies on the ground and he slowly removes his helmet and goggles. ‘My name is Mark. Can you hear me, love?’

Only now does Aaron see a small girl, sitting cross legged on the floor. Her dirty blonde hair hangs in front of her face, making it impossible to see her expression. Small hands stroke through the hair of another child lying in her lap. This is a boy; his short blonde hair sticks up and some patches seem red with blood. His eyes are closed.

‘Are you hurt?’

The girl looks up slowly. Her eyes seem vacant but the hand doesn’t waver as she tenderly strokes the boys hair. She smiles.

‘I’ll cut slow, make him suffer. Or maybe I’ll cut you up first, nail your pretty head to the wall, make him watch.’

The voice, coming from the girls mouth, sounds all wrong. Warped, distorted, _male_.

‘Reader,’ one of the team members warns. They pull Mark backwards immediately, pushing him out of the door, scooping up his helmet and riffle as they go. Aaron steps forward, kneeling in front of the girl.

‘Unregistered,’ John says through the communicator. ‘Her name is Alison, she was abducted three days ago together with her older brother, Steven.’

‘Hello Alison,’ Aaron says. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘I’ll make him scream your name,’ the girl answers with a laugh. ‘It’ll be the last thing you ever hear.’

‘Alison, I need you to let go of him,’ Aaron urges. ‘He’s dead. You saved Steven. You can let go now. You’re safe.’

The girl pulls her brother closer, ‘maybe I’ll make him nail your head to the wall. Did you choose a spot yet? Next to Nancy, maybe? Or beneath Joshua? I’ll make you look real pretty and I’ll let your brother pick the nails.’

‘Alison,’ Aaron says loudly. ‘You need to let go now. It’s over. You’re safe.’

The dead man seems to hesitate for a second; his grip on the knife loosens and his movements come to a stuttering halt. Blood still seeps from his wounds, dripping noisily into the puddle at his feet.

‘That’s right,’ Aaron encourages. ‘You can feel it; he’s dead. You need to come back now. Find your way back, Alison. Come on.’

‘Don’t even think about getting away,’ the girl whispers in the man’s voice. ‘I’ll always find you, you bitch.’

‘It’s okay to be scared Ali, but you need to come back to me. I can help you, I promise, he won’t hurt you again. Let go. Just _let go_.’

Suddenly Alison’s eyes focus on Aaron. She meets his dark gaze and tears start to form; ‘it hurts,’ she whispers. It is her own voice.

‘I know,’ Aaron says quickly, scooting closer to her. ‘But you can let go now. It’s over, I’m here. You’re safe.’

‘He’s inside me.’

‘No, no, you’re inside _him_. Pull back. It’ll be okay.’

The man falls like a puppet whose strings are cut. He lands in his own blood, jerking slightly before lying still at last.

A female team member steps past Aaron and lifts the boy from the ground, cradling him against her chest before quickly walking away. The little girl screams his name and jumps up, but Aaron holds out his arm and pulls her against his chest. Little fists fight, trying to hit his face and chest, but all she does is hurt her own fingers.

_Calm, comfort, protection, warmth._

The young, blue eyes widen. Alison sways on her feet, nearly falling over as the feelings wash over her but Aaron holds onto her arms to keep her upright. It’s easier for him to relay his feelings to her when they’re touching.

‘I’m going to pick you up now,’ Aaron warns before pulling her closer so he can lift her onto his hip.

‘He’s inside me,’ Alison whispers in his ear. Little hands grasping onto his SWAT Kevlar vest.

Aaron climbs the stairs slowly, whispering soft words of comfort and trying to keep his emotionssteady. His team is standing outside, waiting for their leader to come back out. They walk beside and behind him, their normal positions when doing a raid, while they make their way back to the farmhouse.

There is a crowd waiting for them. FBI agents hang back while the crime scene investigation unit rushes forward to get details and access to the cellar. When Aaron wants to walk to one of the waiting ambulances, the team leader of the FBI steps forward.

‘We’ll take her,’ he says, flashing his credentials.

‘She might be hurt and she’s unregistered. It was a mistake.’

‘A _mistake_? She single-handedly murdered a grown up man _with her mind_. We need to take her in, you know that.’

‘She’s just a little girl.’

‘Agent Hotchner, you have done your job, now hand her over or there will be consequences,’ the man steps forward and takes Alison from him. She screams again; arms reaching out towards Aaron, begging him to take her back.

‘Her name is Alison,’ Aaron says.

‘Not anymore.’

 


	2. The hammer drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can we talk about how the United States government just declared an entire subgroup of our society to be less than animals for a moment here?

 

“Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.”

Benjamin Franklin

 

* * *

 

 

It’s almost ten years later when Aaron Hotchner is standing in the middle of the bullpen, staring up at the television. Around him, agents are leaning back in their chairs to catch a glimpse of the screen, others wheel around their desks to join their co-workers and to get a better view. Spencer Reid has the best desk for it, directly in the line of sight. He’s sitting in his chair, gazing up at the device with large, brown eyes. JJ is sitting on his desk, her phone in her hands. It pings softly, always receiving e-mails, texts, calls, but she ignores it. Maybe she doesn’t even hear.

On the screen, a judge lets the hammer drop.

For a moment, nobody moves.

Then the glass doors open and Morgan rushes in, a bag slung over his shoulder. He jogs towards his Unit Chief, ‘hey, have they reached a decision  yet? I was down at Washington PD for that consult, but when I left they hadn’t yet…’

‘It’s done.’

Morgan deflates a little, staring at his friend, ‘you’re kidding me.’

‘No,’ Hotch says before turning on his heels and walking up the small set of stairs towards his office. He makes sure to close his door softly but his fingers tremble slightly when they slide off the handle. When he sits down behind his desk, he glances back at the bullpen through his window.

Reid, JJ and Morgan all turn hastily back towards the television screen.

Hotch starts his computer and  pulls the news-feed up. A reporter is standing just outside court, awaiting reactions from the various parties involved. The first to appear before camera is a man not much older than Hotch himself. He grins and waves at the audience, victorious. With an easy gesture, he silences the crowd.

‘ _Justice_!’ He shouts, balling his fist and pumping it in the air. The crowd goes wild. The man laughs, straightening his tie before leaning towards the microphone. ‘This isn’t about equality,’ he says, shaking a finger, ‘no, no. This is about keeping our children _safe_.’ The crowd cheers again and the man laughs, ‘They are being rounded up as we speak.’ He says, ‘they are being locked up like the dogs they really are!’

Hotch closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. The sound of the crowd, cheering and chanting, makes him sick. After a moment, he tilts his head to the side and opens his eyes. There’s a portrait there, of their president, of their flag. The land of the free, he thinks bitterly.

The news-feed switches between reporters. The President leaves court, jogging down the steps and halting before he steps into his limousine. He glances at the camera, his face drawn. He opens his mouth, but then shuts it again, closing his eyes for a moment before regaining his posture.

‘First comment?’ the reporter asks, pushing the microphone closer.

‘This is a dark day for America,’ the President says. ‘One day we’ll have to answer for this crime.’

There’s a soft knock on his door and Aaron shuts the feed down. JJ walks in, her arms filled with manila files. She sits down on the small couch, putting the files on the table. A few strands of blonde hair fall into her face and she pushes them behind her ear.

Hotch stands and sits in one of the leather chairs so they can talk more comfortably.

‘So,’ JJ says, uneasy and slightly nervous, ‘quite the verdict, huh?’

‘Yes.'

The young blonde woman nods, biting the nail of her left thumb, ‘what about you?’ she asks. ‘and Jack?’

Hotch shakes his head, ‘I’m not strong enough. And it’s not genetic.’

‘Good,’ she smiles, clearly relieved. ‘I’m glad.’ She grabs one of the files, the only one that isn’t customary yellow. It’s all black, with white letters. ‘Can you believe that they’ve already send out these? The verdict was minutes ago.’

‘They’ve been preparing this for a long time.’

‘It’s so wrong,’ JJ says with a shake of her head, ‘look at this. This memo,’ she holds a piece of paper up, ‘it explains how we’re supposed to write them in the expense reports. Like _tools_. They’re going to be right there with the SUV’s and bulletproof vests! They’re not even… God.’

Hotch takes the memo and reads it, ‘they’re just like the search-dogs now.’

‘I thought it was bad when they shut them up in those facilities. But this is… They’re _human beings_.’

‘Not according to our laws.’

They read the memo’s in silence for a moment. Hotch leans closer and grabs the list of names that’s in the file. He scans it, once, twice, before putting it back on the table.

‘Should I call a round-table?’ JJ asks when she’s read the final page. ‘Seems like there are a lot of decisions to be made.’

Hotch nods and she pulls out her mobile, sending out an emergency recall for the entire BAU team. Downstairs, in the bullpen, Reid and Morgan immediately get up to grab their tablets. They walk up the stairs together, shoulder to shoulder, quietly discussing the news. A few seconds later the elevator doors open and Rossi and Garcia walk out. They’d been reviewing a cold-case together, digging through a person’s past and turning them over like rocks.

It doesn’t surprise him anymore that he can summon his team this easily. That they drop cases, relationships, lives for him at a moment’s notice. One little text-message and everyone is on their feet, no questions, no glances, no delays. Nobody reroutes to get coffee, nobody dashes off for a last minute bathroom break. They’re always ready, it seems. Always waiting, maybe.

‘Let’s go,’ JJ says with a smile while she gathers the files back into her arms. When she turns, her blonde hair whips around. Hotch gets up and follows her to the round table.

‘No,’ he hears Garcia say, the word drawn-out and horror-filled. ‘No, no, no,’ she says, ‘they can’t do that! It’s. It’s in the constitution! I mean, they, they have rights, right?’

JJ clears her throat and motions towards Morgan’s tablet that is on the table. ‘By now you’ve all received a memo from the director. It will explain all the new developments.’

Of course it takes Reid only seconds to read the entire memo but he stays quiet while the others scroll through the entire text. Morgan is last to finish and when he does he leans back in his chair with a disgruntled look on his face. ‘So, what? They’re animals now?’

‘Technically,’ Reid says, ‘they’re lower than that. Animals have rights.’

‘So they’re _nothing_?’

‘Property,’ the young doctor corrects, looking uncomfortable.

‘This is wrong, man,’ Derek says, shoving the tablet away from him angrily. He shakes his head and focuses his gaze on Hotch.

The unit chief straightens his posture, ‘be that as it may, there are still a lot of decision  to be made here.’

Rossi frowns and looks at the rest of his team members before addressing his friend, ‘can we talk about how the United States government just declared an entire subgroup of our society to be less than animals for a moment here?’

Hotch sighs and takes his seat, ‘it’s not my call, Dave.’

‘Look, I get that you’re not the goddamn President, but we don’t have to agree with this!’

‘Actually, we do,’ JJ says, pushing a few blonde strands behind her ear, ‘the referendum was legal and the final appeal has been denied. It’s law, now.’

Derek shakes his head, ‘we were so busy looking the other way. Racism. Anti-Semitism, extremism, terrorism. So busy defending our borders, our secrets, our image that we forgot about half of our people. And they just struck, like fucking Blitz-attackers. ’

‘That case in Arizona didn’t help,’ Reid says while rotating his chair half-way lazily. When Garcia looks at him blankly he sits up a bit. ‘A fifteen year old boy killed his entire family by Manipulation. He made the father skin his brother and mother and then kill himself by stabbing the blade into his own heart. Neighbours said the father abused the teenager and the brother and mother never did anything to stop it. Officials said there never was any evidence.’

Garcia’s eyes grow wide and moist, she turns to Morgan, ‘never any evidence? They could have gotten another reader to poke in his mind!’

Morgan closes his eyes briefly, ‘reader’s aren’t allowed to testify. They can make up entire worlds for us to believe with their minds, they’re unreliable in court.’

‘This case was used in court to prove that readers are too dangerous to be left unsupervised. Of course, most of them were already registered and confined to the camps, but children were still allowed to live with their families until they turned eighteen,’ Reid says. ‘Now every child gets tested and brought to the camps when they qualify as readers. They will be trained to work for the government.’

‘Not just the government though,’ Rossi says, ‘they go to the highest bidders.’

‘Everyone can _buy_ a reader?’ Morgan asks, sounding incredulous. ‘That’s slavery.’

‘They’re not human. You have to be human to be a slave.’

‘Rossi,’ Morgan sighs.

The Italian leans forward, ‘I’m not saying it isn’t wrong but…’

‘Morgan’s right,’ Hotch says, ‘it’s wrong, but it’s been going on for decades now. This law? That just makes it legal for the bureau to take on readers. Everyone already bought one, hired one, from research facilities and is using them to defend themselves. The bureau is tired of being one step behind all the time.’

‘So now it’s okay for the government to have slaves?’

‘Their rights have been slowly taken away since the start of this century. You were right, we were busy looking the other way, but this isn’t about racism, or terrorism. This is about it not being us. We were fine with the fact that they didn’t get to vote, or testify, or own property. We were fine with them having no rights at all and now we put a label on them and you object? Before today, you were just glad it wasn’t you.’

Morgan slumps in his seat, looking cross, but he stays silent.

‘We were all glad it wasn’t us,’ JJ says, flicking her hair over her shoulder, ‘or our children. And now it’s law, there’s nothing we can do about it. There are a lot of decisions to be made,’ she repeats while flipping the black file open, ‘we need our own reader and we’re the only team that’s get to choose his own.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because you have the best communications liaison of the division.’ She smiles, ‘the BAU using one of the first FBI-readers? Good publicity all around. Here is the file, we’ve got a few candidates, but we need to interview them.’

‘We’re going to interview 37 readers?’ Reid asks sceptically as he glances at the list of names.

‘No,’ Hotch says immediately. ‘Garcia.’

‘Yes sir?’ she pipes up.

‘There’s someone I need you to find.’


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

‘Science made us God, even before we were worthy of being men.’

Jean Rostland

 

* * *

 

 

The mental institution was built centuries ago, in a time when there was no color. Everything is gray here; the walls, ceilings, floor and faces of the nurses. The ceilings are high, but there are barely any windows. Shadows haunt them relentlessly, cast by artificial light, harsh and cold. Their footsteps echo through the entire building; it’s the only sound they hear.

Aaron glances at Spencer, who walks besides him and leads the way to one of the main wards at the heart of the building. The young man seems oddly at ease; he isn’t clutching his messenger bag, nor is he frowning. For once, Aaron wishes he could be as calm as Spencer.

The walls haunt him. There are words, written in the language of dreams and thought, forming nightmares of consciousness. Aaron can read it, but just barely. Some are too complex for him to understand; layers and layers of dreams confuse him until he wishes he’d never come here. When he touches the walls, the doors, the light switches, he can feel the despair leaking from the building. The endless screams of its inhabitants; their eternal longing for freedom or death.

He wonders whether Spencer can hear it. Probably not, because the young man frowns and glances down his front self-consciously when Aaron looks at him for too long. There is no fear in his eyes, and Aaron is glad. He hopes that Spencer can’t see the terror in his, either.

A security door opens when they approach it. There’s a doctor waiting for them; ready with a kind smile and firm handshake. Spencer darts it by stepping aside and letting Aaron take the hand. He waves instead, looking a bit sheepish.

‘Long time since we had visitors,’ the doctor says with a grin. He wobbles on his feet excitedly, like children tend to do, and ushers them further into the room. ‘Come,’ he says, ‘come!’

They go through another security door and step onto the ward. It’s a large room, much like a hospital ward, but the floor is bare concrete and the walls are a dull gray. There are beds everywhere, hooked to the walls and floor, bolted in place. Every bed has a separate IV stand, with two bags hanging from it. Tubes slither down, beneath dirty, ragged sheets, plunged into pale, thin arms. All the beds are occupied.

Reid backs away involuntarily, his ease melting away at the sight of the many beds.

‘No need to be scared,’ the doctor says, beckoning them over to one nearby. ‘They are completely sedated, see? It’s the IV’s, ketamine.’

‘A horse tranquilizer?’ Hotch asks incredulously as he slowly walks towards one of the beds. There’s a man laying there, the sheet only covering his modesty and some parts of his chest. His arms are covered in scars, most likely from the many IV’s. His hair is blonde and dirty, his teeth are rotting.

‘You don’t know what they’re capable of,’ the doctor says, ‘we had to. They’re too strong for normal, _human_ sedatives.’

Aaron looks at the wrists of the man, scarred over but still bleeding, ‘why are they cuffed to the beds if they’re sedated?’

The doctor shakes his head, ‘you don’t know what they’re capable of,’ he repeats.

‘No I don’t,’ Hotch murmurs as he walks further into the room, passing bed after bed. They’re all the same, dirty, skinny, rotting teeth and bleeding wrists. Their skins are pale, their hair long and matted.

‘What’s the other IV?’ Reid asks. When the doctor frowns, he adds, ‘you said one was ketamine, but there are two bags at each…’

‘Etizolam,’ the doctor says quickly. ‘Helps them sleep.’

‘Does it needs to be that strong? Etizolam has muscle relaxant properties, as well as amnesic, anxiolytic and hypnotic ones.’

‘I thought you weren’t a medical doctor.’

Reid rubs at his arm, uncomfortable, and glances at Hotch, ‘I’m not.’

‘Then how would you know what they need?’

‘I don’t,’ Reid admits.

Hotch stops walking but his footsteps still echo through the room for some time. Most of the occupants of the beds are passed out, eyes closed and mouths lulled open, but some meet his eye when he passes. They look at him but can’t seem to focus, some squint before gliding back into unconsciousness. Hotch frowns, ‘these are all men. Where are the women?’

‘We keep them in separate rooms. They might be animals, but we’re not. Only proper to keep them separated, besides, there aren’t that many.’

Hotch turns and walks back towards the doctor.

Reid wraps his arms around himself, ‘Aegrus Mens Mentis is, like some other conditions, one that mostly affects males, like Klinefelter’s syndrome and color blindness. These are both genetic of course, no-one knows why AMM affects more men than women.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘Aegrus Mens Mentis? It’s Latin. It literally means ill or diseased mind, the name was given to the condition by Doctor John McMillan. He was the first to write about it in a scientific journal, the New England Journal of Medicine actually, back in 1813. He thought that it was a virus, maybe.’

Hotch nods and turns to the doctor, ‘lead the way please.’

Security doors open again, one by one, and automated voices tell them to wait, to step forward, to wait. Camera’s follow them as they walk down a long corridor. The walls are damaged in places, long scrapes that could only be caused by fingernails. Hotch wonders how many people were dragged down this hallway, forced into those beds, never to get up again.

‘Why a virus?’

‘Hmm?’ Reid glances his way, ‘oh. First he thought it might be an isolated incident, trauma, brain damage, something like that, but soon more cases were brought to him when word got out that he was researching the phenomena. So, virus. It had to be something that could spread easily and quickly.’

‘Why not genetics?’ Hotch asks and he catches Reid biting his lip for a moment. ‘What?’

‘It was 1813,’ Reid says, fighting a smile, ‘they’d never heard of genetics.’

‘Right.’

The doctor opens another door for them and glances over his shoulder, ‘they excluded genetics around the 1925’s, right after the development of the Mendelian model, but some fanatics still think there’s a genetic component.’

‘Augustinian Mendel, widely considered to be the first genetic researcher,’ Reid supplies. ‘He laid the foundation with his work on pea plants.’

‘Peas, chocolate, love,’ Hotch says and Reid gives him one of his rare, beaming smiles.

‘Through here,’ the doctor opens a door and steps into another ward. This one is almost empty, there are only three beds standing at the very back and they’re all deserted. There’s a small desk at which a nurse sit. She’s typing something on her computer, her gaze shoots up when the door opens. She smiles at the doctor.

‘Hello Martin. You brought company! Hello!’ She stands hastily, straightening her dress before walking around the desk to shake their hands. ‘I’m Denise.’

‘Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, we’re from the FBI,’ Hotch rattles off while grabbing his badge and flipping it open to show her. Reid just waves awkwardly. ‘We’re here to see one of your patients.’

‘Oh,’ the nurse glances at the empty beds, ‘FBI?’

Reid bounces a little on the heels of his feet, ‘yeah, we’re here to interview one of them, the bureau is looking to err, maybe, hire? Some of them. Her.’

‘But I’ve only got kids here,’ the nurse says, pointing at a couple of doors on the other side of the room, ‘I mean… young ones. All the women were transferred to another facility. I can look up which if you’d like.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Hotch says decisively, ‘We’re looking for subject 16051990.’

The nurse pales a bit, glancing at the doctor who looks at her expectedly, ‘I’d have to look up which room is…’

‘You only have five!’ The doctor says sharply, ‘if you can’t remember five simple numbers then…’

‘Thank you,’ Hotch interrupts, ‘I’m sure Denise will be able to assist us further. Good day.’

The doctor hesitates for a moment but then nods and turns on his heels. The door falls shut behind him, making a noise like thunder in this hushed world.

Denise’s posture slumps in relief when he’s gone and she smiles at Hotch, ‘sorry, it’s just…’

‘Her name is Alison.’

The eyes of the nurse widen slightly, ‘Alison?’ she walks back to her desk to grab a key-ring and then leads them over to a heavy-looking door on the far left. ‘What do you want her for? She’s not trained or anything.’

‘You know her by name?’ Reid asks.

Denise squirms a bit, ‘I saw her file and…’

‘We’re not here for you,’ Hotch assures her.

‘It’s just,’ she sighs and then squares her shoulder, meeting the older profiler’s eye, ‘they use ketamine. _Ketamine_! But these are kids, sir. I mean, I know they’re not human, but those meds? It would kill them.’

‘So you don’t tranquilize them?’

‘Of course I do! Just, something lighter. Diazepam, mostly. I only use ketamine when there’s an inspection but luckily we don’t have too many of those,’ she unlocks the door and swings it open. ‘It’s not fair, you know,’ she tells Hotch. ‘It’s not their fault.’

‘I know,’ the unit chief answers softly before ducking into the room. Reid follows him, a hand on his gun at all times. The room is small, with only a bed, a desk and one metal chair. There’s an electrical wire hanging from the ceiling, ending in a broken light bulb. There’s glass on the floor. It crunches beneath Aaron’s shoes.

On the bed, on top of the sheets that look like rags, sits a teenage girl. Her right wrist is chained to the steel framing of the bed, but the chain is long enough that she could reach the desk should she want to. The metal is pooled in her lap, she plays with the shackles absent-mindedly.

The clothing she’s wearing is too big for her. Or maybe she’s just too skinny. She looks gaunt, her skin pearly white, almost translucent but her hair is bright red.

She doesn’t look up when Hotch and Reid enter, not even when the nurse joins them too.

‘Did you dye her hair?’ Reid asks, leaning forward a bit and peering at the girl.

‘Yes,’ Denise says, clearly uncomfortable. ‘She asked me to. Saw it in some magazine.’

Hotch looks around the small room. Then he walks towards the desk and pulls a drawer open. There’s one sheet of paper and a small pencil. He takes the sheet out and studies it. On every line, there’s a capital letter, drawn with ink. After it, comes a string of small letters, drawn clumsily, but getting better with every single one.

‘You’re teaching her how to write,’ Hotch says, showing the sheet to Reid. ‘You often don’t sedate her at all. You dye their hair, you know their names and not their numbers. You care for them.’

‘I’m a _nurse_ ,’ Denise bites out. ‘It’s my job.’

‘And Martin Wallis is a doctor, but he lets his subjects rot on a general ward. He knows nothing about them, won’t even touch them. But you’re not scared,’ Hotch observes as he tilts his chin a bit higher, a gesture easily mistaken for arrogance. ‘Who was it?’ he asks. ‘Who turned out to be a reader in your family? Your younger sister? Your cousin maybe?’

‘Look,’ Denise says defiantly, ‘lock me up all you want, but they are _children_. I don’t care what your laws say. They’re just teenagers. Most of them never did anything wrong, and if they did, it wasn’t their fault. How are they supposed to control it if nobody teaches them? And the government? They lock them away in these dark, grim places, hoping the problems will all just go away. I was just… They deserve better than this dungeon.’

‘It’s against policy,’ Reid says, not meeting her eye.

‘Yes it is,’ Denise answers. ‘But I don’t regret it. Alison, she’s clever. Like, proper clever, you know?’

‘How do you know?’ Hotch asks while kneeling in front of the girl. Her eyes are glazed over, she’s not focussing on anything. When he reaches out to touch her jaw, she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all.

‘We test them before they get put here. There are levels, codes, ranging from zero to five. We are zero’s, non-readers.’

‘And she’s a five?’ Reid asks.

Denise shakes her head, ‘she’s off the scale.’

Hotch puts his hand on her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently over her cheekbone. Her skin feels too cold.

‘Alison,’ he says softly.

‘She’s sedated, she can’t hear you.’

‘Alison,’ Hotch repeats. ‘Do you remember me? It’s okay to be scared.’

The blue eyes snap up to his face, sharp and clear instantly.

‘Hey stranger,’ Hotch whispers with a small smile.


	4. Pick a name

'The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.'

Ernest Hemingway

 

* * *

 

 

Spencer Reid is standing in front of a one-way mirror, holding a steaming cup of tea in his pale hands. They’re in a different part of the mental facility, a few levels up, but it still looks the same to him. The artificial lights make everyone seem pale and grey, even when they smile. Footsteps echo through the many hallways, closing doors sound like thunder in the distance, but he’s hardly seen anyone since they arrived, apart from the subjects. Ghosts, he thinks, buried and forgotten in this wasteland.

The door behind him opens and Denise, the young nurse, enters. She hands him a manila file.

‘That’s all,’ she says, not meeting his eye.

Reid takes the file and flips through it. A birth certificate, the results from the testing, two pictures and the death certificates of two parents, an accident report. It takes him two minutes to read it all. There’s not much Garcia hadn’t already found.

Next he takes up the pictures. One was taken before her condition had showed. A blonde little girl sits on a high chair, staring into the camera. She’s laughing, the skin around her eyes crinkling and her hands half-way up to cover her giggles. Just any another happy kid.  
The other picture is taken four years later. The little girl is still blonde, but her hair is dirty and fat tears roll down her filthy cheeks. The blue eyes seem horrified as she looks up at the camera. There are bruises on her arms. Her hands are half-way up again, but this time they reached for her eyes, to cover her grief.

Reid looks up, into the interrogation room on the other side of the mirror. The little blonde girl looks nothing like the sixteen year old sitting across from Hotch. Her hair is red and the blue eyes are neither happy, nor horrified. Vacant, really.

Reid turns back to the file, shuffling the papers until he has both death certificates in his hands. ‘It says her parents were killed?’

‘Yes, when she was six years old. The guy broke in to grab her from her bed, parents woke up and fought. He had a weapon though, there’s not much you can do against a shotgun.’

‘No,’ Reid agrees while he flips through the file again. There’s one last page in there but it doesn’t belong in the personal file; it’s one of the case-reports from a SWAT-team. He reads it in seconds; about the raid, the house, the children’s heads tacked to walls, about the storm cellar and the dead man, talking. The report is very formal, but the last line states: _her name is Alison_. Spencer doesn’t need to check who wrote the report. He looks up again.

 

In the interrogation room, Aaron Hotchner leans back in his seat. The girl before him is nothing like the girl he carried to safety almost ten years ago, but he would recognize those startling blue eyes anywhere. She’s too pale and too thin, the clothing too big and too dirty. She’s not wearing shoes and the soles of her feet are scarred over.

The sedation is slowly leaving her body. Her arm twitches once in a while, causing the cuff to hit the metal legs of her chair. Hotch had insisted that she wouldn’t have to be restrained, but Denise felt like she’d already broken too many rules.  
There’s a small pouch on the table, in front of Hotch. Inside, there are two syringes. One heavy sedation and one that will cancel the sedation out, standard equipment when handling any reader.

It’s a waiting game, really, but with every passing second, Hotch can feel her getting stronger.

When he was born, his parents had thought he was a reader. And while his mother wept, his father tried to beat it out of him for years until they found out that he wasn’t very strong. He wasn’t even a one on the scale. Nobody considered him a threat, he slipped right under the radar.   
On his best days he can feel the emotions of the people he’s close to. It never works on strangers. But at the office, he sometimes feels Rossi’s frustration leak through their wall before the Italian storms in, ranting about paperwork or restrictions. There was a time he could feel Reid’s despair, his craving, his fear, but he’s glad that’s all behind them now. It used to make him sick.  
Unlike readers however, he can’t manipulate those feelings. He can’t make Reid feel happy when he’s not and he can’t calm Rossi with anything other than words and whiskey. That doesn’t bother him, in fact; he thanks God that he isn’t stronger. Walking down that aisle, past all those subjects with those vacant eyes, he’d almost seen himself, lost in a haze of drugs and memories.

This isn’t a life he would wish on anybody.

After five minutes life slowly starts to return to Alison’s body. She starts to shiver, then stretch, before tilting her head finally upwards. The blue eyes are sharp once more.

‘Hello,’ Hotch says.

She narrows her eyes.

‘Do you remember who I am?’

She cocks her head to the side slowly, letting red hair fall over her shoulder. ‘You called me Alison, once.’ She says, voice rough like it hasn’t been used in a while.

Hotch nods, ‘that’s your name.’

‘I can’t remember.’

It sounds dismissive, like it doesn’t matter.

‘I remembered it for you.’

The girl gives him an awkward smile, just a twitch of her lips, involuntary, nothing but muscle memory. ‘They call you Hotch,’ she says. ‘Sometimes. Or Aaron. Honey. SSA. Daddy. Agent. Love. Hotchner. Slick. You have many names.’

‘You can pick one, if you want.’

‘You hate some. How am I supposed to choose?’

Hotch’s hand twitches, moving closer to the pouch on the table. Sharp blue eyes flicker down to catch the movement but snap back up to meet his. ‘How do you know that I hate some of those names?’ he asks, hoping he sounds calm and collected.

‘ _Keep it clean and don’t call me honey_ ,’ Alison says, but when she speaks, it’s Aaron’s voice that echoes through the room. Of course, Aaron has heard his voice played back to him many times before. On the stand, during interrogations, preparation for his classes, video-feeds from their consults, home-video’s. But never like this. This is not on tape. This is from his memories.

‘ _Don’t_ ,’ Aaron says automatically, setting his jaw.

‘Why not?’ the girl asks.

‘I haven’t given you permission.’

The blue eyes narrow, ‘do you think I need permission?’

Aaron’s hand closes around the pouch. Alison’s arm twitches as her gaze snaps back to his fingers. She pales, if that’s even possible. The blue eyes widen again, in fright this time. Aaron pushes the pouch away from him. It slides over the table, stopping just before it topples off.

‘No,’ he admits. ‘I want to make you an offer.’

‘I know. I don’t want it.’

This makes Hotch frown. He leans forward on his elbows, angling his body to her but lowering his shoulders to seem less threatening. ‘Why not?’

And suddenly someone grabs his tie, pulling it tighter until he starts to choke. He shoves himself away from the table, staggering to his feet, but there’s no-one behind him. There are no hands on him, but the sensation doesn’t fade. He gags and pulls his tie loose, throwing it on the floor.

‘Because I say so,’ Alison says softly.

Just as suddenly, he can breathe again. He coughs, leaning heavily on the table.

‘ _Take your tie off for once in your life, huh_ ,’ Gideon tells him.

The doors open with a bang. Reid is there instantly, pulling Aaron behind him. For a moment, Aaron freezes as Alison turns her attention to the young doctor.

But nothing happens.

Reid casts a look over his shoulder, ‘okay?’ he asks quietly as Denise runs in, a syringe in her hand. She crosses the room, grabs Alison’s arm and plunges the needle in.

Alison smirks, ‘goodbye _Aaron_.’

‘Yeah,’ the unit chief says, to both of them.

 

‘She’s never like that,’ Denise murmurs while she examines Hotch’s neck. There are no signs of bruising, no redness, no swelling, but Reid insisted that she’d have a look anyway. Now she’s peering down his throat with a flashlight and Hotch has no idea what she’s looking for. ‘She’s normally such a nice girl. Never gets into trouble.’

Hotch wants to answer, but Reid glares and he decides to keep still.

‘You probably want another interview,’ Denise says, leaning back and gesturing that he can close his mouth again. ‘We’ve got some other candidates, male though. Level four, I think. They’re downstairs, I think you’ve seen them. Bit more violent, so no more games. Handing over the sedation was dangerous.’

‘She’s powerful enough to take over my bodily functions,’ Hotch says, accepting a cup of water from Reid, ‘it wouldn’t have made a difference. If she wanted, she could have stopped you from administering the dose.’

‘Don’t be silly. They’re as much addict as they are psychic. They want to drugs more than they want your memories.’

Hotch takes a sip, letting the cool water soothe his throat.

‘Anyway,’ Denise continuous cheerfully, ‘No bruising, no swelling, so you’re fine. Do you want me to schedule another interview? How about tomorrow?’

‘No,’ Hotch says, standing up and handing the cup to Denise, ‘let’s continue as scheduled. I’d like to spend some time with her tomorrow afternoon. Maybe you can have her tested tonight?’

‘But..’

‘Thank you,’ the unit chief continues smoothly as he shrugs his jacket back on. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s go Reid.’


	5. Before the lights go out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid eats a cup cake and Hotch thinks about about teenagers.

 

“Like its politicians and its wars, society has the teenagers it deserves.”   
J.B. Priestley

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Aaron finds himself in a quaint little coffee shop in the middle of the small town. There’s a square where older people rest on benches, talking about local politics and the latest gossips, while teenagers skate past on their roller blades and boards. There’s a small skate park, on the left on the square, in front of the coffee shop. Aaron watches the youngsters as they flash by. After the previous day in the mental center, he’d almost forgotten how colorful teenagers are. Their jackets are fluorescent, neon colors, their hair parts of rainbows, their shoes silver and gold. They zip past, high-fiving as they go, shouting and laughing. An unruly, happy bunch in the middle of a small town.

‘Here you go.’ Reid appears at his elbow, putting the freshly brewed coffee on the table. Aaron’s is a regular cup of black coffee, no sugar, no milk, but Reid has a caramel, hazelnut, chocolate, whipped-cream disaster. There’s also a large cupcake, with cream and sparkles, which Reid bites into as soon as he sits down.

‘Disgusting,’ Aaron says and Reid laughs, recognizing the rare humor.

‘You should try it!’

‘I don’t have a teenager metabolism anymore.’

‘I do,’ Reid says smugly, munching on his sugar-bomb. ‘My mom always says that the coffee makes me so skinny, but…’ He shrugs non-committedly.

‘You’re kidding me,’ Aaron eyes the cup of coffee. He can’t even see the dark liquid, it’s hidden under a mountain of whipped cream and colorful sugar speckles.

‘Yeah, she’s crazy.’

That makes Aaron laugh. Reid flashes him a genuine smile before continuing to eat his cupcake. This morning he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons are left open. It’s rare that his sleeves are rolled up to above his elbows, exposing pale skin and his watch. Normally he likes to wear the device over his shirtsleeves, preventing the metal from touching his skin. Aaron’s read somewhere that some gifted people have tactile sensitivity, but he’s never asked Reid whether he hates the feeling of his watch, or whether it’s a weird fashion statement.  
It’s been a while since they’ve been on a road trip like this together, but Aaron quite likes to spend some time with the youngest member of his team. The random facts, tirades about books and strange music choices might drive Dave to desperation, but Aaron enjoys the weird quirks. It reminds him of the young man that walked into the bureau one day, looking utterly lost, and how they haven’t ruined him yet.

‘Are those Alison’s test scores?’ Reid asks before stuffing the last of his cupcake into his mouth and wiping his hands on a napkin. He reaches over and grabs the file, even though Aaron was reading it. Instead of objecting, Aaron leans back and sips his coffee.  
It’s one of Gideon’s habits he took on after the older profiler left, passing written documents to Reid, whether it be books or tox-results, reports, it doesn’t matter. Sometime ago he’d felt bad about it, like he was stigmatizing the profiler, like fast-reading was all he could do, but Hotch quickly got over that when a coroner passed him a seventeen-page report in tiny lettering and Spencer automatically took it from his hands with a teasing, knowing smile.  
And after all, Morgan takes pride in a well-organized, efficient raid. Why wouldn’t he give Spencer some credit for reading a coroner’s report on a sadistically-tortured victim in under two minutes?

‘Yeah,’ he says, blowing into his coffee cup to cool the liquid. ‘Courier brought it to the hotel room this morning.’

Reid frowns as he leaves through it, already further into the report than Aaron had gotten. ‘She’s not even a two,’ he says.

‘I saw that she scored badly on the shielding, but,’ Aaron starts as he sits up again, leaning into Spencer’s personal space to read with him. The leafing immediately slows down so Aaron can at least glance at the charts. ‘That can’t be right. She should score… something went wrong.’

‘Maybe,’ Reid says slowly, picking up speed again as Hotch leans back in his chair. After another minute, he closes the file and curls up in his chair, shifting so he sits cross-legged. For such a tall man, he can fold himself into the most uncomfortable-looking position.

‘I once failed a math-exam,’ Reid says suddenly, scooping up some whipped cream and licking it off the spoon. ‘In high school.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

That makes Reid look up instantly.

‘You probably found a better way to solve the problem. You always have to do it a certain way in high school or it’s considered incorrect, right?’

‘Well, that too,’ Reid says, ‘but no, I failed intentionally. I thought it would help get rid of the bullies if they thought I wasn’t that clever after all. Didn’t help of course, but I tried anyway.’

‘Bullies pick a target and stick with it,’ Aaron says as he takes his spoon and steals some cream from Reid’s cup.

‘Get your own!’ Spencer laughs as he shield the rest of his precious sugar. ‘But yeah, I didn’t know that in high school.’

‘Are you saying she’s trying to makes us think she’s not good enough?’

Reid shrugs, ‘could be. She made it pretty obvious she wanted to have nothing to do with you.’

‘Yeah,’ Aaron subconsciously loosens his tie a little.

‘But?’ Spencer prompts.

‘But?’ Aaron asks.

‘She called you _Aaron_. Why would you choose a name, if you’re never going to see them again?’

 

 

 

Alison is sitting on her bed, which is bolted to the floor. There are cuff around her right hand and right ankle, keeping her in place. The chains are shortened, she can’t reach the desk this way. Her gaze flickers over to the drawer every couple of minutes but she refuses to talk. Denise was in earlier to check on her, but the girl refused to even meet her eye.

Aaron is now sitting on a chair, in the middle of the room, facing her. The file is in his lap. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says honestly, throwing the file on the floor between them. ‘Level two.’

The blue eyes regard him coolly.

‘Maybe we started off on the wrong foot,’ he says, shifting a bit closer. ‘My name is Aaron Hotchner.’

‘ _I’m with the FBI_ ,’ Alison supplies in his voice. ‘ _Behavioural  analysis unit. These are Agents Rossi, Jareau, Morgan, Seaver, Prentiss, Greenaway, Todd, Gideon, Blake, Garcia and Doctor Spencer Reid_.’

Aaron nods, ‘my son’s name is Jack. He’s eight years old now.’

‘ _My junior G-man_.’

‘Would you like to see his picture?’

Alison doesn’t respond, but her eyes flicker to his jacket-pocket, where he keeps his wallet. There’s a picture of Jack behind the FBI-credentials. Aaron carries him wherever he goes and at night, in a strange hotel room, he takes the picture out and places it on his night stand. Sometimes, when it’s too late to call home, he talks to Jack. How he misses him. How proud he is. How much he loves him.

‘Please let me help you,’ Aaron says softly, dragging his chair closer so he can put his feet on the metal frame of the bed.

‘ _It’s over, you’re safe_ ,’ she says in his voice.

‘I’m sorry they hurt you.’

‘ _One day we’ll have to answer for this crime_.’

‘We will,’ Aaron confirms. He reaches out, careful not to make any sudden movements. When his fingers touch her arm, she inhales sharply but doesn’t move away. He turns her arm slowly, exposing the crook of her elbow. It’s scarred. It reminds Aaron of heroin junkies on the street corners, strung out and half-dead. The blue eyes close. ‘Am I hurting you?’ he asks.

She shakes her head, inhaling deeply through her nose.

‘I’m not scared of you,’ he says, curling his fingers around her arm, sliding down until he reaches her hand. He intertwines their fingers. ‘We could be a great team. I trust you.’

‘ _A deal with the devil_ ,’ a person from his past tells him.

‘No. A deal with a strong girl who protected her brother.’

The blue eyes open again, ‘why me?’ she asks. It’s her own voice this time.

Aaron smiles, ‘because you’ve never let me go. You held onto me for _ten years_.’

A small smile starts to appear on her face, a cheeky, teenage smile.

‘You were spying on me,’ Aaron accuses playfully.

‘Denise checks up on us before the lights go out.’

It has taken Aaron years to figure it out, but now he’s certain. Sometimes he is too calm. When the Reaper aimed a gun at him, when Reid and Emily were taken hostage, whenever he takes aim and squeezes the trigger to take a life, when he defends the people he loves. And now he knows who takes his fears, who steadies his nerves.

It’s Alison, checking in before his lights go out. Before he loses his nerve, before he succumbs to his own fears, his own demons.

‘Why me?’ Aaron asks in return.

‘You remembered my name. Everyone else gave me a number.’

‘I offered you the deal yesterday. Why did you say no?’

Alison lets go of his hand, ‘I’m not saying _yes_ now.’

‘Why not?’ Aaron urges.

The young girl gives him a sad smile, ‘our eyes aren’t the same, you know. We don’t see the things you do. When I look at you, I hardly see your black hair or your pale skin. All I see is memories. Stories.’ She pushes his hand off her knee.

Aaron stands, ‘it’s getting late. We’ll talk more tomorrow.’

‘I don’t think you understand,’ she says while he walks towards the door. ‘When I look at you, I see your stories. And it isn’t a pretty sight.’


	6. Falling (together)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alison and Aaron bond over memories of murder, hardship and family.

 

* * *

 

 

'Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.'

Haruki Murakami

 

* * *

 

 

Every morning Aaron runs a couple of miles. He especially likes to run in the cities he visits, exploring the new streets and parks. He watches as the town wakes up. Early commuters grabbing a cup of coffee from their favorite places, teenagers, yawning and stretching while waiting for their busses, mothers trying to herd their children to school. He passes them all, his feet pounding on the beat of this strange town. Every corner he rounds gives him a new perspective on the people, on the city itself.

The girl behind the counter gives him a friendly smile when he walks into the lobby of his hotel. His hair is plastered to his forehead, sweat dripping down his neck, staining his grey shirt. 

‘Good morning,’ she says and he gives her a half-hearted wave.

Back in the room, Aaron half expects to find Reid still sleeping, just like how he left him. On his belly, with his mouth open and one arm hanging off the bed. But Reid’s up. The young doctor is sitting behind the desk, curled up in the wooden chair. His feet are bare, toes curling around the edge of the chair, and his hair is still wet from the shower.

‘Morning,’ he says while squinting at the screen of his laptop. ‘Ordered you breakfast, blue-berry pancakes. You ordered that two year and four months ago, I hope you still like it.’

‘I do,’ Hotch says as he spots the breakfast sitting on his nightstand. ‘What did you have?’

‘Coffee,’ Reid murmurs, showing him a large to-go mug, ‘it’s pretty good. I got you black.’

‘Thanks.’ Hotch falls down on his bed and wipes the sweat off his neck with Reid’s used towel. When his breathing is more even, he digs into his breakfast. ‘One day,’ he says between bites, ‘we’re going to have a serious conversation about your eating habits.’

‘You sound like JJ. She’s always feeding me granola bars when we’re in the field.’

‘Probably scared that you’ll keel over.’

‘Probably,’ Reid nods while pulling his laptop closer to him. He’s reading a word-document, scrolling through it, his nose awfully close to the screen.

‘Where are your glasses?’ Hotch asks when he finishes his pancakes and goes on a hunt in his go-bag to find some decent clothes.

‘Hotch,’ Reid says simply.

‘Sorry,’ the unit chief murmurs because sometimes, he can’t help but become a little overbearing. He likes to keep a close eye on his team members, to make sure they’re eating, hydrating, exercising, talking. And while some take his concern in stride, JJ gave up resisting a long time ago and even Morgan takes bottles of water from Hotch and empties them right there and then, but both Reid and Dave still shut him down every time he tries. Maybe it’s because Dave thinks himself older and wiser than Aaron, at least where his own body is concerned. And Reid has never had someone looking out for him like that and he doesn’t need it anymore at 27 years of age.

‘What are you working on?’

‘My philosophy degree,’ Reid says and he looks up for the first time, slightly abashed. ‘You don’t mind, do you? We haven’t had much time over the last couple of weeks and I thought, well this isn’t really…’

‘We’re not on a case,’ Hotch assures him.

Reid gives him a fleeting smile, ‘good, ‘cause geo-profiling Alison would just be boring.’

Aaron snorts and grabs his clean towel before disappearing into the bathroom. When he comes out half an hour later, dressed and clean-shaven, Reid is wearing his glasses. Neither of them comment on it.

 

There’s a small courtyard where nurses take their smoke breaks. It has a patch of grass and a couple of picnic-tables. Cigarette butts litter the ground, but the grass is clear of rubbish and now bathing in sunlight. The temperature has been climbing steadily all day, but now, at one in the afternoon, it’s at its peak.

Spencer Reid is sitting at one of the picnic-tables. There are several notepads spread out on the table before him, handwritten versions of his thesis. There’s a phone wedged between his right shoulder and ear and every once in a while, he laughs at something Morgan is saying.

Aaron Hotchner is sitting in the grass, his long legs stretched out and his back against the wired fence. For once, he isn’t wearing his suit but dark jeans and a white FBI training shirt. He’s chewing on a piece of grass, like cowboys used to do, and his keen eyes follow Alison, who is walking over the grass on bare feet.

She’s still wearing her dirty, baggy clothes, the grey sweatpants and grimy white shirt, but her red hair is tied up in a high ponytail and for once, she isn’t frowning. Instead, she laughs as she looks up at the sun.

‘It’s so bright!’ she says delightedly.

‘We can sit in the shade if you want,’ Aaron offers.

‘No, I didn’t mean… It’s nice! Warm. Much warmer than my room. Why is the sun brighter than my light?’

‘Because the sun is a big ball of burning gas.’

‘But it’s so far away,’ Alison says, trying to look directly at the sun, but squeezing her eyes shut as it gets too bright. ‘And my bulb is right here.’

Suddenly, they’re not outside, but inside, in her room where everything is grey. The bulb sways in front of them. Aaron frowns.

‘Sorry,’ Alison laughs and they’re outside again, the room fading immediately. ‘I just wanted to show you the difference. Why do you like sitting in the sun? Is it cold in your home too?’

‘No. It’s just a nice feeling.’

Alison falls into the grass next to him, arms wide and a grin on her face, ‘yeah,’ she sighs, closing her eyes as she soaks up the heat of the sun.

‘How long has it been, since you’ve been outside?’ Hotch asks nonchalantly.

‘ _I’m going to pick you up now_ ,’ Alison says in his voice, pulled from her or his memories, ‘ _Her name is Alison_.’

‘Ten years?’ Hotch asks, turning to look at her.

‘Maybe,’ Alison says, not knowing the date or even year, ‘I was much smaller than I am now, so, yeah, maybe ten years. Do people grow a lot in ten years?’

‘Children do. You stop growing after a certain age. And then you just shrink.’

‘Shrink?’ Alison repeats, sitting up, ‘so you’re going to be tiny in ten years?’

‘Probably.’

‘You’re lying, I can feel it.’

‘I’m not lying, just teasing you a bit. I’m not going to be tiny, it takes longer than ten years to become really small.’ He doesn’t tell her most die before they every grow really, really small. And somehow, if he’s honest, he’ll be surprised to live so long as to shrink, at all.

‘That’s a sad thought,’ Alison murmurs as she plucks at the grass. Aaron curses himself for not being more careful but the girl shakes her head, ‘it doesn’t matter how careful you are. I feel it, you can’t shield me.’

‘You feel my mood?’

‘Something like that. It’s easier than reading your stories.’

Aaron watches as Reid finally ends the call and turns back to his thesis. The laptop is back at the hotel room, forcing the doctor to write his ideas down in his notebooks. He rather likes hand-writing the thing, Aaron knows. And as he looks at him now, Aaron can’t even see the scars that all those years have left behind. Not just the BAU, but life itself. He can’t imagine what it’s like to look at someone and see everything that ever drew blood on their souls.

‘I’ve thought a lot about what you said,’ Aaron says, ‘about my stories.’

Alison  falls back into the grass, looking up at the blue sky. She lying right next to him, her chest rising and falling slowly. Her left hand slowly creep towards his leg, fingertips touching the rough denim.

‘I want you to know that I… I think they were worth it. There are things I wish never had happened and there were things so horrible that, at the time, I would have given my own life to stop them happening, but even those hardships have to be endured. Losing Haley was…’ Aaron shakes his head, ‘hard. At the time I thought unbearable, but everything can be overcome, if you really want to. I had to, for Jack. It made me stronger, as a person, because it made me realize that… there are people who need me, who love me.’

Alison smiles as she plays with the hem of his jeans, rubbing it between her fingers to feel the texture.

‘I just wanted to say,’ Aaron says, batting her hand away because it’s distracting, ‘they’re worth it, the bad stories.’

‘I don’t understand why. They make it hard to see the good ones.’

‘I know, but how would you know it’s good if you don’t have anything bad?’

Alison frowns, ‘but why can’t it all be good?’

‘The world doesn’t work like that.’

‘Why are you trying to better the world, then? If it doesn’t give your stories a happy ending regardless of your efforts.’

Aaron smiles down at her, sliding down a bit so he can lay on his back too. Their hands inch towards each other and when she touches his pinky, he doesn’t move away.

‘You’re right, the world doesn’t hand out happy ending.,’ he says, ‘the people in it do. That’s why I try so hard, because I want them to have a happy ending, so they might help me to mine. Paying to forward. But it’s hard, and sometimes when you do the right thing, it will feel like you haven’t.’

She rolls to her side, curling up against him, still holding on to his pinky. Her forehead is pressed against his shoulder, knees touching his waist. ‘ _I don’t make deals_ ,’ she whispers in his voice and their minds reels with images of bloody numbers on a bus. Gunshot victims. Rossi, handing him his gun, _here, take mine, do it! We’ll catch this guy without you._

‘I don’t,’ he says, ‘and I don’t want to make a deal with you, either. I can’t keep you safe. And I’m going to ask too much, every time, until you break.’

‘I won’t,’ she whispers.

Aaron turns to her. And his eyes widen.

He’s not sure where he is

 _The horror that spreads through_ _him **Agent down.** Morgan_ _, high-voiced and panicking, **Guys, guys get in here**! Reid, on the phone and quite calm, **I’m already infected**. Garcia, whispering in his ear the horror she reads on her screens, crying when she thinks she’s losing one of her family members. Prentiss, **oh, this is really gonna suck,** and JJ, fighting for the life of her son, breathing heavily with wide eyes which seem too cold and empty. Rossi, who almost breaks the phone, **I’m here with Reid but I don’t know where anyone else is, Garcia, Find them!**_

He’s not sure when he is

_Gideon, dazed and horrified, **Sarah**. Elle who kneels before a grave, touching the smooth stone, I **’m so sorry dad.** Aaron, standing in her living room, scrubbing blood of her walls, **rules, deals, promises,** Haley crying on her phone, asking him to, **promise me**._

_The absolute heartbreak of that **gunshot**._

He’s not sure about anything

_Jack, opening the door and his face lighting up, **dad**! Will showing up at the hotel and hugging JJ like his life depends on it. Haley, turning around when he gets home and smiling. Morgan looking a tad too innocent and Reid fuming, **yeah, like a bomb going off next to him**. Prentiss, examining human bones and smiling at Hotch, **I love chocolate**. Gideon, on the plane, asking whether someone wants to play chess with him. His mother, kissing his cheek when he leaves for college. His dad, dying. Jessica, smiling gently and leaning against his kitchen counter, i **t would mean a lot to me if you’d let me help out with Jack**. Henry in JJ’s arms, in the middle of the conference room, Morgan stepping forward to take him. Garcia decorating their offices for Christmas, Jack and Henry running after her with bits of tinsel. Reid, jumping onto Morgan’s back and hugging tightly after their victory. Prentiss taking JJ’s hand in the hospital. Rossi checking on Seaver and Jessica hugging him and wishing him a happy birthday. Beth, sweaty and panting but also radiant and grinning, **I hope you’re training for something.** Rossi in the elevator, all shifty eyes and knowing smiles, **right, training, for what though?**_

‘Okay, there we go,’ a familiar voice says. ‘Slowly. No, don’t-!’

He’s sure there’s something horribly wrong

_Jack, screaming and hiding in a small space, **I worked the case.** Haley holding the phone and looking at her only son, determined and so, so scared. A house exploding and Emily sitting in the back of an ambulance, bleeding from her lips. Reid, flying into his arms, **I knew you’d understand**. Morgan, facing his demons with trembling hands and tears in his eyes, **you had everything to do with making me who I am.** JJ, screaming when the gun goes off and Will falls. The hot-cold feeling of him, punching until he can feel the life leaving the body beneath him. The scars in a mirror._

‘Alison!’

 He’s sure there’s always someone to pick up the pieces

 _JJ carrying Jack out of the house. Jessica inviting them to Christmas dinner. Garcia’s face lighting up when he steps into her apartment on the day of the dead. Henry climbing onto his back while Jack tries to tackle his legs. Morgan, putting a hand on his shoulder in the passing. Reid, leaning against his doorpost with that crooked smile of his. Rossi making pasta in his mansion, surrounded by family. Prentiss, who always comes when called_.

 

‘Hotch!’ there’s pain, somewhere outside, inside, everywhere around him. Just when he realizes that he can’t see, that he isn’t seeing anything real, that he’s losing his mind, the world snaps back into focus. And there’s someone looming over him.

‘He’s going to-‘ Alison screams, but Reid is too late.

Hotch, on instinct, lunges. His mind reels with the Reaper, with an unsub, someone hovering over him, about to hit him and it’s too late when he finally realizes that he’s attacking Reid. Their roles have reversed, the doctor now on his back, with Hotch over him, his fists raised in the air, ready to strike.

‘Auw,’ Reid murmurs after a second, when the blow doesn’t come. He blinks up at his unit-chief, who’s hand is frozen in mid-air. Then his gaze shifts to Alison, who’s sitting against the fence, hands over her ears but eyes wide open. Reid looks back at Aaron, ‘err?’ he asks.

‘I can’t move.’

‘What?’ Reid frowns but then he looks past Hotch, at Alison

‘I’m sorry,’ the girl says softly, ‘I’m so sorry, he was going to…’

‘Yeah, he does that,’ the doctor murmurs, ‘it’s fine,’ he says, louder so Alison can hear, ‘I just startled him. He wouldn’t hurt me.’

And then Hotch is let go, unfrozen, and he pushes himself aside, falling into the grass. They’re quiet for a moment.

‘Wouldn’t hurt me much,’ Reid corrects with a laugh, the last tension draining from his body.

‘Well,’ Aaron says, ‘I had to redeem myself. You said I kicked like a nine year old girl.’

Reid hums, eyes closed, basking in the sun, ‘yeah, well, I don’t think you’d do better this time around.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I mean, that was almost a _decade_ ago.’

‘Are you saying I’m getting old?’ Hotch asks.

‘Scientific fact.’

‘Thin ice, Dr Reid,’ the older profiler warns with a teasing smile, ‘thin ice.’

 

The rest of the afternoon Aaron spends with Alison, curled up on a blanket, foreheads nearly touching as they trade whispered secrets. He can feel her mind, slowly seeping into his. There are memories that aren’t his, hidden in his mind. He loves a mother he’s never seen, misses a brother who isn’t Sean.

And Alison’s mind reels with people and places. There are so many people to care for that it makes her sick. She tries to remember their faces, but it’s hard to read their stories. They’re fragmented, she can only read what Aaron knows, information spread over decades, some of it fading and some underlined with blood. There are rules, regulations, languages, micro-expressions, laws-

‘I’m scared,’ Alison whispers in the sun.

‘That’s okay,’ Aaron answers. ‘So am I.’


	7. He is not alone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then, Spencer sees that Aaron’s not alone. His eyes are bright blue.

 

 

* * *

 

“For she had eyes and chose me.” 

William Shakespeare,  _Othello_

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a fascinating process to behold, Spencer thinks as he watches Aaron. The unit chief is stretched out on his bed, reading one of the books Spencer brought, but his gaze is glassy and he hasn’t flipped a page in over seven minutes. It normally takes him one minute and 48 seconds on average to do so.

Every once in a while he’ll shiver or shake his head like he’s trying to get rid of something, a fly bothering him, or his hair falling into his face, but there aren’t any insects in the room and his hair is not nearly long enough to reach his eyes.

Spencer sits down on his bed, feet on the frame so he can wrap his arms around his knees. The hotel room is quite small and if he reached out with his feet, he’d be able to touch Aaron’s bed. There’s a small nightstand which currently holds three of Reid’s books, stacked in a neat pile, the case for his glasses and his phone. Jack’s picture is propped up against the spines of Spencer’s books, so Aaron can see it from his pillow.

Spencer isn’t as used to sharing a room with Hotch as he is with Morgan, but he does know the unit-chiefs little eccentrics. The windows should always be closed when going to bed and he likes to keep his gun on the nightstand, where he can grab it immediately. It could be considered as signs of hyper-vigilance, but Spencer isn’t scared for Hotch, as long as the other man doesn’t sleep in his suit and shoes.   
Now, however, the window is wide open, letting rapidly-cooling night-air swirl around the room. Their curtains billow, waving in the wind and caressing the leather chairs which are within their reach.   
The gun was still in Aaron’s holster when he started reading.

Suddenly, Aaron slumps a bit, his face nearly touching the book before he catches himself. The eyes clear, their focus returning after a couple of surprised blinks. Then he shakes his head again, reminding Spencer a bit of a dog trying to get dry and a small smile creep onto his face as he watches the older man come back to his own senses.

Aaron sits up, his joints cracking a bit. He rolls his shoulders and reaches out to turn the book around so he won’t lose his page. Then he swings his legs around, planting his feet on the cold floor. He wipes his eyes before noticing that Spencer is watching him.

‘Your guns are in the safe,’ the doctor says immediately. ‘And your ankle holster is in your bag.’

A hand still flies to his holster to check on the device, but Aaron gives him a grateful smile before his gaze flickers over to the window and the vault.

‘Shall I close the window?’

‘Only if you’re cold,’ Aaron says as he sits back onto the bed, his back against the wall.

Spencer gets up and closes the window, even though he isn’t cold. Then he opens the vault, retrieving Aaron’s main gun, and places it on the nightstand, careful not to let it block the view of Jack’s picture.

‘How was it?’ he asks when he sits down again, wrapping his arms around his legs and letting his chin rest on his bony knees.

‘Fine,’ Aaron says dismissively. They are silent for a long time, just sitting there. Then, Aaron sighs, rubbing a hand over his five o’clock shadow before looking up again to meet Reid’s eye. ‘What’s wrong?’

Spencer plucks at his trousers, ‘It would have made more sense to take JJ with you. Or even Garcia.’

‘Maybe,’ Hotch says with a shrug. He gets up and turns to his go-bag, grabbing his sweatpants and old Harvard law shirt. The lettering is fading and the seams are threading, but it’s soft and old, so he always wears it while sharing a room with one of his team members. For a moment, he thinks about walking to the bathroom to put it on.

‘I don’t think I can be of much use,’ Reid says. ‘I knew what I signed up for and I wasn’t a sixteen year old girl.’

Hotch throws the garment on his bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt while turning back to his team member. He frowns a little. ‘Why do you think I took you with me?’

‘Because I was the youngest agent in history? Because I’m the youngest of your team and might be able to help her cope with everything? Because I don’t look like an agent?’

Sometimes Hotch finds it shocking how badly his team members understand his motives. Other times, he knows that it’s because he hardly ever explains himself. He rarely has to, after all he’s the unit chief, but he wonders whether they know that he considers them to be his friends, as well.

And Reid. Well, Reid would have been right a couple of years ago. Of course he’s the youngest in history and the nickname _kid_ will always stick, but that’s not why Hotch brought him along.

‘That’s not why,’ Hotch tells him. ‘I didn’t pick you because of your age and I’m not expecting you to help Alison in any way. We agreed that she would use me as an anchor point because I’m sensitive to her abilities. I can help her, I don’t need you to do that.’

‘Why then?’ Reid demands.

Hotch shrugs out of his shirt, throwing it on the floor near the television they hardly use. He grabs the Harvard shirt and pulls it over his head. For a moment, just a flash, his torso is bare. Reid watches.

He doesn’t flinch. Or frown. He doesn’t look sorry, or embarrassed, not scared or afraid.

He doesn’t even seem to notice. He probably doesn’t care.

Aaron pulls the shirt down, over the scars which are still clearly visible. They’re no longer raw and red, instead now shiny with ragged edges. They still hurt sometimes which makes him wonder whether it might be psychosomatic pain as scar tissue isn’t supposed to have any feeling at all.

‘That why,’ Hotch says and Reid cocks his head to the side, nonplussed. ‘Because I can show you scars and you won’t think I’m weak. And besides, my mind is second-grade at best,’ he says with a small smile, rare humor shining through, ‘I wanted to know whether I would be able to hand your brain to her on a silver platter and trust her enough not to crush it.’

Reid gives him a crooked smile, ‘is that what you wrote on my function form to Cruz? Guinea pig?’

‘No. I babbled something about you being the youngest agent ever and being able to relate to Alison without being intimidating. Or something like that. I can’t remember.’

The doctor laughs, kicking off his shoes and letting himself fall into his cushions. Then he looks up at the book Aaron was reading.

‘Want me to read it?’

‘Sure,’ Hotch answers while he changes his pants in the bathroom. He brushes his teeth quickly and hops onto his bed, grabbing the manila files he brought to report his progress. ‘Only if you want to, though,’ Hotch now adds, ‘I was on page..’

‘I know where you were. I saw it when I sat down.’

‘Okay,’ Hotch shifts a bit and then stills, taking up his pen and writing the report.

“Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;  
The world was all before them, where to choose  
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide;’

When Reid glances at his unit chief, he notices that the pen has stilled. He’s gazing at the words, eyes glassy and distant once more. But when Reid takes a moment to reach for his water bottle, Hotch looks at him as to find out why he stopped.

And then, Spencer sees that Aaron’s not alone. His eyes are bright blue.

The doctor smiles hesitantly, slightly unnerved by the strange eyes, but they slowly sink back to a darker hue, more to Aaron’s usual hazel eyes.

‘They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,  
Through Eden took their solitary way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines Spencer reads to Aaron come from 'Paradise Lost' by John Milton.


	8. See you soon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger, as an emotion, is like water. Difficult to hold on to.

 

* * *

  

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”   
Mary Oliver

 

* * *

 

 

There’s something dark moving in the corner. It coils and curls into itself before expanding and creeping over the walls like an animal of the night. Nails click against concrete, scrape against plasterboard and drum on the ceiling. A smell bleeds into the room, horrifying and sickening, a mixture of old blood and vomit. It gets closer.

It spreads over the wall, drips onto the floor and scurries towards the middle where Aaron is sitting on a simple wooden chair. His shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his chest. Seven stab wounds, ragged and still bleeding, are visible in the half-dark. The shoulders are hunched, like he’s carrying a heavy load.

The darkness draws up behind him, just a shadow looming over him. The flash of teeth, a cruel smile, the lure of red lips, all form words which echo in the small room. It doesn’t make Aaron look up. He doesn’t move at all.

Alison wants to scream, but her body won’t cooperate. It’s frozen, her blood turned to ice seconds ago when the shadow started to grow. And now she can only watch.

The shadow descends on Aaron.

‘Wake up!’

The shadow stops. It growls softly, turning into several dogs with bullet holes in their heads and bodies. They bleed dried blood and their eyes are rotting. Red tongues lull out of their mouths, their breath turns foggy when the temperature in the room plummets.

‘Wake up!’

Aaron jerks awake. He finally looks up to see Alison frozen on the spot. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees Gideon standing next to him. A bird sits on Gideon’s outstretched hand and he strokes it lovingly.

‘The mourning dove,’ he says and he sounds like Spencer. ‘The most common backyard bird in America. It’s a gentle and shy creature. With a very fragile neck.’

It snaps beneath Gideon’s hand. The man falls apart into darkness. It haunts the walls, now slowly making its way to Alison. Before Aaron can say anything however, it leaps.

‘Don’t make me the monster,’ the shadows say as they push a knife into Alison’s stomach. ‘Kiss your son goodbye before you leave.’

Aaron stands up and walks over to Alison, who’s falling to her knees, clutching the wound. The knife is gone into shadows. He kneels down beside her.

‘Do you wanna see my scars?’ he asks. ‘Yours are going to look just the same. I remembered your name for you. Profilers think that stabbing is a substitute for the act of sex. No, I’m using you. Maybe this will change the way that you profile.’

‘Stop,’ Alison pleads but Aaron laughs. The shadow giggles and leans on his shoulder, a poltergeist from days gone by. A strong smell of alcohol starts to fill the room. The thunder of approaching footsteps on stairs, the creaking of a door and a young Aaron’s terrified screams. Bruises start to form on Alison’s back and chest. Not where anyone can see.

‘Stop!’ Alison says through broken sobs. There’s liquid trickling down her ear and when she reaches up, it’s blood.

‘Please Aaron, stop it!’

Aaron shakes his head, ‘I don’t make deals.’

‘ _Stop_!’

With a gasp, Alison breaks the surface of their shared memories. She falls back into reality, feeling the mattress and blanket beneath her, the cool air of the fan above her. The bedroom materializes around her once more as she struggles to sit up. Sweat is beating down her arms and back, soaking her shirt and hair.

Aaron is sitting on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the room. His shirt is buttoned up and he looks concerned.  They stare at each other. Alison with a heaving chest and wild look in her eye, Aaron with regret and sorrow.

After a moment, the girl sags back onto the matrass. The fan swirls above her head, causing a light breeze in the room. Papers tacked up on her walls whisper foreign words. Some have multiplication tables on them, something with which she struggles most. Maths isn’t her strong suit, though her English is improving tremendously. There are some Spanish verbs on other papers, ones Aaron usually struggles with, and there’s a map of the whole world. Geography is one of her favourite subjects.

There’s a stack of books near her bed. She can reach it without getting up. The ones on the bottom are children books, moralistic tales with pretty pictures, but she’s now advanced to middle school books about other teenagers who she can hardly relate to except through Aaron’s memories.

‘You fell,’ Aaron says softly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alison replies instantly. A reflex she was taught on her first day in the institution.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘We can talk about it, if you want.’

Alison watches her fan go round and round. There’s so much in Aaron’s mind that she doesn’t understand. Scenes of meetings where people speak with words she doesn’t yet understand, scenes of his friends hurting, scenes of his family falling apart, scenes of him still going to work. There are millions of memories which don’t make any sense to her.

‘I don’t want to,’ she says and she curls up, turning her back to Aaron.

The profiler sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘I’m not a baby. I can get it myself if I want to.’

Aaron shakes his head and focuses. He’s leaning into Rossi’s office while on his way to the canteen, _can I get you anything_? He’s watching Reid solve a complex puzzle on their white boards, _can I get you_ … JJ puts a hand on his shoulder on the plane, _can I get_ … Morgan pulls out his wallet and motions towards the bar, _can I_ …. Jack is painting at the table in the living room, _can_ … Garcia answers the phone…

‘Alright!’ Alison snaps, leg kicking involuntary, out of frustration. ‘I get it! You’re one big happy family that solves crimes. And family obviously plays _fetch_ with each other. Fine! That’s _fine_!’

‘Obviously it isn’t. Tell me what’s wrong.’

This time, the girl laughs while turning around. ‘What’s wrong? You make me watch thousands of memories with corpses lying at your feet and you ask me _what’s wrong_? You’re sick!’

‘Alison…’

‘Why?’ She demands. ‘Just tell me why those families are so much more important than your own.’

Aaron rubs at the five o’clock shadow on his chin, ‘they need us,’ he says. ‘We’re the only ones who they can turn to.’

‘ _This isn’t about us Aaron,_ ’ Rossi tells him.

‘Don’t,’ Aaron warns his young protégé.

‘ _We’re just guys doing a job, and when we stop doing it, some-one else will_.’

Aaron gets up, puts his jacket back on, ‘we’ll discuss this when you’ve gotten some sleep. See you soon.’

 

 

Only when he falls into his bed does Aaron realize to whom he’d said those words before.

_See you soon._

And he doesn’t sleep.

 

 

Spencer Reid is surprised to find himself to be quite nervous when he unlocks Alison’s cell. He’s never been alone with the girl before, in fact; they’ve never really talked. There’s a package which he balances on his hip when he pushes the door open, one arm curled around it to keep it steady.

Alison, as usual, is sitting on her bed, cross legged. Her eyes were closed, but now they snap open, bright and flashing.

‘Good morning,’ Reid says as he closes the door and walks over to the desk. He puts the package down on the metal surface.

‘Good morning,’ Alison echoes. She’s playing with the shackles of her chains again.

Reid, as nonchalantly as he can, takes the keys from his pocket and throws them on the bed besides the girl. She smiles and removes the shackle from her right hand. In this light, Reid can see faint scars on her wrists from times the cuffs had been too tight.

‘Thank you,’ she says, standing up and stretching before walking over to him to peer at the package. When Reid steps aside quickly, she looks a bit amused. ‘I won’t touch you,’ she says, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to look inside the box, ‘promise.’

‘Thanks,’ Reid answers awkwardly, then he shakes his head and drags the box closer to him. He opens it, ‘Aaron bought you some new clothes. Well, Garcia ordered them but Aaron vetoed on some items. She’d be delighted if you went shopping with her, when you.. if you come with us.’

‘Girls like to go shopping, right? Aaron remembers it.’

‘Some do. Garcia does, certainly, but she can also order it online if you don’t like going to the shops.’

‘I’ve never been,’ Alison says, ‘not that I can remember.’

‘Right. Sorry.’

Alison shrugs, ‘can I see?’

‘Sure, sure,’ Reid says hastily, removing the clothes from the box. There’s a red tank top, in exactly the same shade as her hair, new black sweatpants with white letter which states _FBI Quantico Training Centre_ , black socks and brand new Converse. That’s what she takes first, turning them over in her hands, soaking them up.

‘I love red,’ she beams, holding the shoe up to her hair, ‘they match too.’

‘And we do too.’ He pulls the leg of his jeans up, revealing black Chucks.

‘Brilliant! Those are beautiful too! Do they come in all kinds of colors or just these?’

‘Loads of colors. And prints! Lots of prints!’ Reid exclaims with his usual enthusiasm, hands flailing. ‘I can show you, later.’

‘That would be great, Doctor Reid.’

He blinks, reeling back a bit before smiling, ‘It’s Spencer, or Reid. You don’t have to call me doctor.’

‘But it’s part of your name,’ she frowns, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

‘It is,’ Reid nods, putting the box on the floor, ‘but I like to think we could be friends. And my friends call me Reid. Or Spencer.’

‘ _Spence’_ Alison murmurs in JJ’s voice while she strokes the fabric of her new pants. ‘ _Pretty boy. Kid. Boy genius. Bright eyes._ Why do you all have so many names?’

Spencer thinks about all the names he’s had. Kind names. Cruel names. They swirl around his mind, recalling dates and times. The first time someone pushed him, someone punched him, shoved him into a locker. JJ, breezing by, calling him _Spence_ without realizing it. Garcia, waving her wobbly pen at him and calling him a genius. Morgan, winking at him from across the round table, throwing a balled up piece of paper, _hey, pretty boy, you with us?_

‘I don’t know,’ he says.

She smiles, ‘nothing you do ever makes sense.’ When Spencer frowns, she shakes her head. ‘Not you specifically. Your kind. Sometimes I think you’re the ones that are cursed.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re so blind, all the time. And helpless. Why would you be dependent on them? I could make people like me if I wish. Erases their stories, write my own for them. I could make them like me. Make everyone love me.’

‘That sounds lonely,’ Spencer answers. ‘Our stories makes us who we are. You wouldn’t have enough imagination to write them for us. And it’s better when people prefer to be in your company, than when you force them to.’

‘I don’t care about _people_. They’re afraid and blind and helpless,’ she snaps, her anger suddenly flaring, making Reid think that she was hiding it from him all along. But anger, as an emotion, is like water. Difficult to hold on to.

‘Are you angry because I am here instead of Hotch?’

‘No.’

‘The testing is this afternoon. You two had a falling out, he didn’t want to upset you any further.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘He’ll be there,’ Spencer assures her, ‘there’s nothing to be nervous of.’

‘I told you,’ she snaps, ‘I don’t care!’

 

 


	9. Tests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Alison go through the final test-phase.

 

"Blind faith, no matter how passionately expressed, will not suffice."  
E.O. Wilson

 

* * *

 

 

The room is so white, it hurts his eyes. He raises a hand, like it’s the sun that’s blinding him, but it doesn’t help. There’s no escaping. He stumbles, losing his footing as everything is white and nothing seems solid. There are no walls, no ceiling, there’s hardly a floor. Every step he takes, stumbling, groping, feels like his last.

‘Sit down.’

Suddenly, Alison is standing next to him in his living room. Her hair is tied in a high ponytail and she’s wearing the clothes Garcia picked out for her. Her black tank top and FBI Training centre sweatpants. The red Chucks make him smile.

Aaron stumbles to his couch, nauseous and dizzy. He sits down, though it looks like falling. He lowers his head, keeping it between his knees in order to make the world stop spinning. After a couple of minutes, he takes a deep breath and looks around.

‘How did we get here?’

Alison shrugs, ‘would you rather be somewhere else?’

Hotch can read stories on his walls. His own history, streaked in blood and happy-tears, Jack’s; written with bright crayons using images rather than words, but other peoples’ stories too. Lives that have been lived and lost before he moved in, ghostly words trailing over his floor, decorating the ceiling and haunting the dark cupboards.

‘Sorry,’ Alison says.

The words fade away.

There’s a moment of silence. The young girl sits down on the armrest of the couch. She keeps stealing glances, watching Aaron out of the corner of her eye, pretending not to when he looks up at her. She’s stubborn, just as stubborn as he is, and neither of them wants to say that they’re sorry.

The door opens and Morgan comes in. He looks angry, shoulders tense and face too neutral. He’s holding a manila file, fingertips white from the pressure he puts on them. Hotch recognizes all the signs instantly, knowing the young man better than most.

‘Why?’ Morgan demands to know. ‘He was innocent.’

‘Who was?’ Hotch asks.

‘Don’t play dumb with me,’ Morgan snarls, opening the file and slamming pictures down on the table. ‘He was your son, goddammit! Your own kid!’

They’re crime scene photos. Jack is on a wooden floor, eyes open but staring into nothing. There’s blood everywhere. It is glistering, still wet when the pictures were taken. His head is bashed in, nose broken and teeth missing. His fists are badly damaged too, but still balled in anger.

Beaten to death.

‘He was your son,’ Morgan says, softer now, like he just can’t believe it.

Hotch feels like he’s dying, choking on his own feelings. He is confused and sad and mad and despairing, spiralling out of control while he gazes at the pictures of his dead child. He reaches out, his hand shaking. A close up of Jack’s face. That birthmark just below his ear, that scar from when he’d fallen down the stairs in his hairline.

‘It’s not real,’ Alison says, sounding wary.

But it is. Hotch remembers it now. That he came home and saw Jack and just…. He did this. He remembers lifting his fist, bringing it down, cracking skin open with bare hands and blunt force. Now, he knows that Jack had screamed. That he'd cried.

‘Why?’ Morgan asks. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘I..’ Hotch chokes on his words, ‘he wanted to be with Haley. He chose Haley over me.’

‘So you killed him?’

‘No! Yes… I…’

Morgan shifts closer, ‘they’re coming for you, Hotch. They’re going to put you in jail and then they’re going to fry your ass. You know what they do to guys like us in prison? To feds? Huh? Do you?’

Hotch shakes his head, bitter tears burning his cheeks. ‘Please Derek.’

‘You still have your gun,’ the dark-skinned agent whispers before looking over his shoulder. ‘I could say that I was too late.’

Hotch takes his gun out, turning it over in his hands. The metal feels colder than usual, more distant, and his fingers are clumsy when he takes the safety off. It’s loaded, he can tell by the sheer weight of it. He wonders how many people he’s shot before. He can’t recall.

JJ would say that it’s a good thing; that he isn’t keeping score.

Gideon would have had it written down somewhere; all the lives he didn’t save.

‘It’s _not real_ ,’ Alison says, ‘can’t you _see_?’

‘Show me then!’ Hotch snarls back, standing up and pushing her away. ‘You keep saying that, but I still see it! What are you for, if not to make me see?’

‘I can’t,’ Alison grinds out through clenched teeth, ‘it’s not allowed. You have to trust me!’

‘And do what?’ Hotch asks, holding the gun up, ‘what am I supposed to do?’

Morgan steps forward, putting a warm hand on his shoulder, ‘don’t listen to her man, she’s just a kid. Look, I can do it for you. Sit down.’ Slowly, he takes out his own gun while pushing Hotch back down onto the couch. ‘I’ll say it was self-defence. That you attacked me.’

Hotch’s eye widen, flipping the gun in his hand so he can use it immediately, ‘what?’

‘I don’t want you to go to jail, man,’ Morgan urges, ‘look what you did to Jack! Look at it!’

‘Aaron,’ Alison says urgently when Hotch picks a picture up. It’s Jack, dead and bloody, on his living room floor. ‘ _Please_.’

‘Promise me,’ Aaron says, staring at Jack. ‘Promise me that it’s not real.’

‘It’s not!’ the girl shouts, ‘that’s not Morgan! It isn’t Jack either! None of this is real!’

‘None of it?’

‘No,’ Alison says, calming down again, ‘only we are.’

‘Why are you real?’

The girl laughs humorlessly, ‘they can’t control _me_. That’s why you chose me, remember? You’re _elite_. And so am I. I could ruin their illusion, but we need to pass this test. So _do it_!’

Morgan gives him an unsure smile, he leans back, flicking the safety off his gun, ‘don’t listen to her,’ he says, backing away. ‘It’s me, man. Don’t do this.’

Hotch takes aim, ‘I would never hurt my son. You should have picked someone else,’ he says before pulling the trigger.

 

 

Spencer Reid is sitting in the observation area. It looks like one of the waiting area’s in any hospital, white and sterile, with a couple of chairs and a small table, overflowing with out-dated magazines. There’s a television mounted on one wall.

Spencer, folded up in one of the chairs, is watching the television intently, chin on his knees and eyes glued to the screen. There are three cups of coffee sitting next to him, cold and untouched. He hasn’t even noticed that the nurses brought them in.

On the screen, Aaron is sitting at a metal table, hands chained behind his back. The fingers are twitching every once in a while, brushing against his shackles before going limp again. His head is lulled to the side, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. He’s sedated, lost in his own world.

Alison, sitting across from him at the table is alert. Her eyes are on Aaron most of the time, occasionally flicking up at the camera, making Reid think she can feel him watching.

There’s are four readers in the room with them. One of them is standing directly behind Aaron, eyes glazed over. He is the one controlling their world now, drawing Aaron further down into delusions. The others are keeping Alison out.

Reid frowns a little as Aaron moans, tears sliding down his cheeks. The eyelids flutter a bit, ‘ _Jack’_ resonating through the room as Hotch gasps. The dark eyes snap open, pupils dilated due to fear and adrenaline, but his gaze settles on the girl opposite him and he immediately relaxes, slumping in his seat. His head lulls back as he breathes heavily, staring at the ceiling.

The reader, the one right behind Aaron, comes to his senses moment later. His eyes clear, refocus, as he steps forward. Two fingers are pushed into Aaron’s neck, feeling his pulse. The unit chief tilts his head to the side, allowing the strange touch, while Alison observes.

‘Clear,’ the reader says while stepping back again.

A door opens and two men step inside. One of them is obviously a reader, staying right behind his handler like a well-trained dog, acting as his shadow. The man is an official, wearing an expensive looking suit, but even that garment can’t mask his expanding belly, or the fact that he’s out of breath from the short walk.

His reader looks better taken care off than most. He’s clean shaven and has a wicked smile, cheekbones that can cut glass. The eyes are an odd color, almost gray and his skin seems to glow.  He’s tanned, well-toned but not muscular, wearing the kind of clothes Morgan does on a night out.

Alison perks up.

The reader makes eyes at her, flashing her a grin from behind his handlers back and reaching out to her mentally. Even Aaron can feel him, he radiates _power_. Before he can say something, however, before he can open his mouth or reach out to Alison himself, she answers him.

And she’s dragged down instantly.

‘Ah, young love,’ the other handler sneers. The words are caught by a microphone and Spencer listens intently to catch each word, but his eyes stay on Hotch.

‘Please, Alison,’ he whispers, trying to catch his readers attention, to refocus her. ‘Ali, come back to _me_.’

But the girl doesn’t seem the hear him. Her head is lolled back now, her eyes unfocussed as the male reader walks over to her like a predator, slow, measured steps. And then strange hands on her shoulders, near her neck.

Aaron tenses.

‘See?’ the fat handler asks, ‘we told you this would happen, agent Hotchner. She might be powerful, but she’s an addict. A _teenager_. She will tell you anything just to get out of this place. That syringe you got on your belt? That’s all the drugs she wants. It’s all they think about. They’re like dogs, longing our pleasure and our rewards.’

Aaron nods, ‘you’re right.’

‘Of course I am! You’ve not only endangered yourself, but your entire team! Your family, too!’

Spencer, still in the waiting room, gets up. He narrows his eyes, leaning closer to the television. There’s something off about his boss.

‘Yeah,’ Aaron murmurs, sounding distressed. ‘Oh my God. What have I done?’

‘Nothing yet,’ the other handler says, ‘you can just pick another one. A _trained_ one. Have a nice five, that’s fine. But she… she’s not only unnatural; she’s an _animal_. She can control you, if she wants to. We ought to put her down.’

Aaron jerks to a stand, legs wobbling as he gasps, ‘no! No, that’s not necessary! No, I just wanted her to… to have a chance!’

‘And she blew it. My God, look at the pair of you. She’s lost in his mind and you’re a wreck. Clean yourself up, agent.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Aaron fumbles to get a packet of tissues out of his pocket. Then he drops it onto the floor. And fast, faster than Spencer can even register, he pulls his gun, straightens, steps forward and presses the barrel against the head of the other handler.

Spencer holds his breath for a moment, and then relaxes again, falling back into his chair.

‘You forgot one thing,’ Aaron says, ‘I’m not relying on her. You thought she was the biggest threat in this room, but she isn’t the one holding the gun here.’

The handler squirms a little, glancing at his reader, but the man doesn’t respond, he’s too wrapped up in Alison to notice his Handler’s distress.

‘Who’s drowning now?’ Aaron asks softly.

Alison snaps out of the daze with a small smile. She stumbles away from the chair, a bit disorientated. As she nearly falls, her hand catches on a chair. One that hadn’t been there before. Another illusion shatters beneath her hands.

Spencer is sitting there suddenly, the waiting room fading away until he remembers that he’d always been in this room. He wasn’t watching it on a little screen. He was here. Right here.

‘I’d say we passed,’ Aaron says as he lowers the gun, putting it back in the holster again, ‘agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ the other handler mutters. ‘Your paperwork will be filed immediately.’

‘Thank you.’

 

 

Five minutes later, Aaron, Spencer and Alison are the only ones in the room. The silence is deafening. The Unit Chief is looking down at his gun, which isn’t missing a bullet, while the doctor is staring at the table, heart racing and mind still reeling from the sudden change of environment.

‘Did we pass?’ Alison asks. She’s leaning against the wall, her forearms resting on the cold bricks.

‘We did.’

‘You passed the basic tests this morning, this was the final stage,’ Spencer supplies. ‘You had to prove total trust and ability to…’

Alison passes out.

‘Jesus,’ Spencer scrambles to catch her, but her head hits the wall and then the floor anyway. Careful fingers probe her skull but find no blood. ‘She passed out.’

‘She’s tired.’

‘Yeah, no wonder. I’m surprised she didn’t get sick, Reader strain isn’t uncommon in young readers when they take on too much…’

‘Let’s just get her to her room,’ Aaron scoops her up and carries her back towards her gray cell. ‘Can you call Denise? I want her head looked at.’

‘Sure,’ Spencer walks out. The moment he’s gone, Aaron runs towards the small, gray bathroom on the corridor, just outside of the room. And is sick.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

 

 

“The only real prison is fear, and the only real freedom is freedom from fear” 

  
 Aung San Suu Kyi

 

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, he’s still in the mental facility. He’s wearing his old sweatpants and a faded shirt. Jack’s picture is on the desk, in clear view. All his muscles ache when he props himself up to look around. Next to him, Alison is curled up in a little ball, still sleep. She’s wearing her old gray pants and one of his hoodies, too big but warm. Her back is turned to him, the heels of her feet kicking the back of his legs occasionally.

‘Good morning,’ Spencer is sitting on the floor, reading a book. He looks tired. For once, he’s wearing his glasses voluntarily, obviously having just removed his contacts. His eyes are red, irritated, and his hair is mussed, like he kept running a hand through it. Now he gets up, joints cracking.

There’s a canister with water on the table and he pours a cup. Then he kneels next to the bed, handing it to Aaron.

‘You look better.’

‘How long have we been asleep?’

‘Just throughout the night and morning. It’s almost noon. You’re not a reader, Aaron, your mind and body can’t take the strain. You can’t take it from her, you made yourself sick. ’

‘I know,’ he says before taking a sip to ease his dry throat. ‘She’s waking up.’

Behind him, the girl suddenly stirs. Her hand tightens on her pillow, fingers digging into the soft fabric before her eyes snap open. She sits up immediately, sensing the two men right next to her, but the fear drains away when she sees it’s only Spencer and Aaron. With a sigh, she falls back into the pillow, closing her eyes again.

‘Can you give us a minute?’ Aaron asks.

Spencer nods, ‘do you still want to…’

‘Yes, we’re leaving today.’

The doctor nods, ‘I’ll pack our things up at the hotel. I’ll be back in an hour.’

‘Bring coffee. And three of those ridiculous cupcakes.’

 

The ride back to Washington DC is long and quiet. Aaron and Spencer take turns driving and the radio station switches with every driver. Reid changes it to classical music, listening to some pieces while talking through others. He explains the history of the term classical music, the various periods and their stylistic differences while pointing out key parts during the songs.

Aaron listens while gazing out of the window. The country side slides by. It’s a beautiful day out. Both he and Spencer are wearing their sunglasses which hide most of their expressions. The doctors voice mingles with the music until it’s all just one noise to Aaron.

It surprises both him and Spencer when Alison speaks up from the backseat, the first thing she’s said since they got into the car.

‘Who is your favourite composer?’

Spencer needs a moment to respond, ‘err, it’s… it’s Beethoven.’

‘In what period did he compose?’

‘The Classical period, which ranged from the 1750’s until 1820, but some argue he led the way to the Romantic period.’

‘Thank you,’ she sits back again and turns her head to look at the countryside. Spencer tilts his head up a bit and even though Aaron can’t see his eyes due to the glasses, he knows that he’s looking at the girl sitting behind him. A faint smile plays on his lips.

‘You’re very welcome. Thank you for asking.’

She laughs at that, understand his meaning. ‘Aaron says it’s rude to just read things like that.’

‘It is. Well… not everyone understands.’

‘We know,’ she replies, letting her head rest against the glass. The conversation fades into nothing, none eager to pick it back up. Aaron thinks about Jack while Alison just drowns in his thoughts, not really focussing on the boy, but wandering through his memories like a ghost, like a shadow on the wall.

After another hour, Spencer calls for a break. He steers the SUV off the highway and parks right next to a gas station. It’s hot, they can see the heat radiating off the asphalt. Aaron passes his wallet to Alison.

‘I need to go to the bathroom, could you get me some water? You can pick something too.’

She looks a little lost, gaze flickering between the small shop and the wallet in her hands.

‘Reid will go with you.’

That embarrasses her, he feels, but Spencer pretends not to have heard. He puts the car in park and jumps out, stretching, to give them a moment alone in the car. Aaron turns around in his seat. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘it’ll be fine.’

‘I’ve never been outside.’

‘I know. I’ll be just around the corner.’ It might be absurd, but Aaron feels like their relationship is on the brink. This is it. A trip to the shop. Just ten steps, with Spencer right next to her. But alone. Not sedated, not chained, not controlled. Free. And vulnerable. This is the beginning. The first step.

‘Okay,’ she says and she gets out. Just like that. She walks towards the store, determined. The automatic doors make her jump back, unnerved, but after a shake of her head, she steps in.

Aaron gets out too. He smiles at Spencer, a shaky, nervous grimace that makes Reid laugh.

‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’

Five minutes later and Aaron is washing his hands in a scrubby bathroom at the other end of the store. He looks in the mirror, surprised to find himself tanned and smiling. His eyes are brown, but when he tilts his face just so, he can see a shimmer of blue. He wonders whether someone else has seen it over the years, whether the Reaper saw it before he died, or Emily when she opened her eyes after her surgery and he told her she was dead to them.

It doesn’t matter. They’ll see it now, he thinks. They’ll see it always, a shimmer of her in his eyes.

And vice versa.

When he enters the shop, he finds Spencer and Alison at the front. They’re posing, pulling faces at Spencer’s camera phone, trying out the plastic sunglasses. Alison is wearing a white one and Reid’s is green. Their heads are close, but not close enough to touch accidentally.

‘Suits you,’ Aaron laughs.

‘Yeah?’ the girl asks, ‘may I have it?’

‘Sure. Did you get the water?’

‘Not yet.’ She walks to the shelf and searches for the right bottle, one she’s seen Aaron drink in recent memories. She shifts through his thoughts so easily, without him even noticing really. She also sees Jack, drinking a coke on a hot day. Without hesitating, she grabs one of those bottle too.

‘Do we have enough money for this?’ she asks, holding two bottles and the sunglasses.

‘We do,’ Aaron assures her. ‘Go and pay.’

Hesitantly, she approaches the counter. There’s a woman behind the till, with brown hair and a kind smile. ‘How are you, darling,’ she asks while scanning the bottles. ‘Will that be all? No gas?’

‘No gas,’ Alison echoes.

‘Right, that’ll be five fifty then.’

Alison glances at the small screen, reading the yellow letters and muttering the number beneath her breath, learning. Then she opens the wallet and looks at the money helplessly.

‘Need some help?’ the woman asks with a smile.

Alison looks back at Aaron, who pretends to be looking at the sunglasses, not willing to lend a hand. ‘Yes,’ she says.

‘Okay, look, you have a lot of one dollar bills. Count them out to five.’

Alison does so, slowly.

‘Very good,’ the woman praises, ‘now we just need fifty cents. Open that little pocket, can you find a coin that says fifty?’

She flips every coin, searching for the words she hardly recognises, but there’s no-one else in the shop and the lady lets her take her time. In the end, she finds it.

The woman beams, ‘yes! Well done, let me get you a receipt.’

 

Spencer touches Aaron’s arm, attracting his attention. ‘Does it hurt,’ he asks.

‘No.’

The doctor nods thoughtfully and watches how the girl stuffs the receipt in the wallet . She practically skips back to the two agents and then struts past as if she wasn’t nervous at all. Teenagers, Aaron thinks bemusedly as he takes his wallet back.

But Spencer laughs and slings an arm around Alison’s shoulders. His skin touching hers. Deliberately.

An invitation.

_I trust you._

Alison’s eyes widen. Spencer’s grip on her shoulder tightens for a moment, color draining from his face.

But then they’re out of the shop, laughing and joking. Alison puts her new sunglasses on and steps into the sun confidently.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alison meets the team

The first few days are the hardest.

Hotch can’t shake the insistent feeling that something is _wrong_. Every couple of minutes he will look over his shoulder, expecting Alison to trail behind him, but she’s not there. Their bond feels weak. Instead of the steady thrum of emotions flooding back and forth between them, he only gets flashes, sharp jabs of _pain_ and _fear_ and rare _joy_. Those moments leave his mind reeling, already so used to his readers steadying touch.

But she’s at the academy. And he is at work.

During the days of testing, they hadn’t been apart for more than a couple of minutes. Enough time for them to shower and get dressed, bathroom breaks and the regular phone calls between Hotch and Jack. But now she’s been gone for _days_.

 

Hotch is sitting in his office. There’s a tension in his neck and shoulders, a nagging pain that doesn’t seem to belong to him, and he leans back in his chair. When he closes his eyes, he opens them at the training centre.

_His face is pressed into the mat. There’s a sharp pain between his shoulder blades, a bony knee digging into his spine. People are laughing at him. He tries to get up, push himself up but the knee just digs deeper, forcing him back down to the floor._

_He tries to calm his breathing, to think. He’s done this before, in another way, when he could rely on sheer strength but now he needs to-_

Hotch opens his eyes again and rubs a hand over his face. Alison doesn’t want his help. Even pinned down on a training mat, she refuses to rely on him for a way out. She cuts their connection every time he tries to help, leaving him with the strange sensation of barely-visible hallucinations. Dream-like images of him in another body, struggling to get up, struggling to find the right words, struggling… She cuts him off every single time.

He’s not sure whether to feel _proud_. Or _useless_.

In the end, he settles on _alone_.

‘Jesus, Aaron.’

Hotch looks up to find David Rossi hovering in the doorway.  ‘Hello David. Can I help you?’

‘Just wondering when we’re going to meet her.’

Hotch pretends to study a file, ‘she’s at the training facility of Quantico. She is to remain there until graduation. It’s standard procedure.’

‘But you stayed with her at the mental institution.’

‘Exceptional circumstances.’

Rossi snorts, ‘and yet standard procedure still applies.’

Hotch looks up sharply, ‘ _is_ there something you need, Dave?’

‘No, just a friendly conversation,’ David shrugs and turns to leave again. ‘Just so you know, you look absolutely miserable without her, Aaron.’

 

After two more days, Hotch gives in.

 

The two black SUV’s take a sharp turn after passing the administration building of the Quantico Academy campus. The rest of the buildings are gathered around a small lake in which cadets are thrown during their hazing and graduates jump to celebrate the completion of their training.

They turn left to drive past the faculty lounge where they often spend time between the classes they all teach. Aaron remembers the first time he’d walked into that building as an instructor, nervous and on edge to be between the ones who had taught him everything they knew, to finally be equal.

They pass the building and park in front of the learning center. It’s one of the larger buildings with rows of classrooms and lecture halls.

Hotch steps out of the SUV and locks it absent-mindedly. It’s a warm day, students are carrying jugs of water while milling about, trying to get to class in time. Some are jogging around the lake, perfectly in step, their shirts drenched with sweat.

The rest of the team hops out of the other SUV, none of them willing to share Hotch’s car now that he radiates _anxiety_ , _nerves_ and _yearning_.

‘This takes me back,’ Rossi says as he looks up at the learning center. ‘It still looks the same. Maybe a bit smaller.’

JJ nods, ‘ten bucks they still have those god-awful plastic plants on the first floor.’

‘You’re on,’ Morgan laughs, ‘no way they survived another ten years of cadets. I already wanted to burn them to the ground.’

Hotch knows that he’ll be losing his money, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he turns towards the trail that will lead them past the large building and down towards the tracks. ‘She’s over there.’ He sets off. A part of him wants to break out into a run just to get to her faster, but that would be unprofessional.

Instead, he just stalks down the path, leaving the rest of the team to catch up.

After a couple of minutes, they reach the tracks. He leans against the fence surrounding the training area, watching as large student groups stretch their muscles. Several armed guards are standing around the area. These are the first readers to be trained by the FBI. And they are watched constantly. Fingers on triggers. Hired readers are sitting behind the guards in the grass, lounging in the sun as they keep the guards safe from any intrusion.

Hotch’s eye is immediately drawn to a group on the other side of the field.

Alison is standing among a large group of men. They are all dressed in grey track suits , but her hair and shoes stand out.

‘That’s her,’ Hotch hears Reid say, ‘with the red hair.’

The readers line up, hands on the gravel and backs arched. On a whistle, they sprint down the tracks, feet pounding until they cross the finish line...

‘Oh no,’ Garcia moans, fingers pressed to her lips, ‘she lost.’

Alison crosses the finish line last. The other guys push past her, shoving her shoulder with a smirk and laugh at her when she doubles over, hands on her knees to catch her breath. But when she straightens again, she glares.

‘Feisty,’ Rossi says with clear approval in his voice.

‘You have no idea,’ Hotch says and a tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Alison walks over to the fence to grab a bottle of water. When she raises it to her lips, she spots Hotch. ‘Aaron!’ the bottle falls as she throws it away in favor of running towards him.

He hops the fence easily and jogs over to where she is. They meet half-way. Alison jumps up into his arms, clinging to him with a laugh as her legs curl around his waist. He holds her close, hands on her back and nose pressed into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

‘I missed you!’ she laughs, fingers digging into his shoulders.

‘How are you?’ he asks, letting their minds collide between them.

 _A drill sergeant grabs her chin and screams whether she’s had enough yet. **He wakes up screaming, reaching for someone who isn’t there.** The room reminds her of home; bare and cold and gray. **Someone asks how Jack liked his birthday present and he feels sick.** Three men tower over her and she want to make them _hurt. **_He straightens Hailey’s picture on their wall and sees Jack’s fingerprints all over the frame._** _A woman gives her an apple when no-one is looking. **Rossi invites him over for dinner and scotch and they hardly say a word but that’s fine.** She’s shocked to find out that Aaron hates apples but she loves them._

‘We’re okay,’ she answers and her eyes are his color.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, allowing her to drop back onto her own two feet.

‘Turns out, I’m not really fast,’ Alison says. ‘Or strong, but I’m clever. And you like that! _We_ like that.’

‘We do. And it takes time to get faster and stronger. You’re doing great.’

_Hair falls into her eyes as she stares at the test forms. The words don’t make any sense to her. Strings of letters, broken up by blanks, nothing she’s ever seen before. They gave her a pencil. Her hands shake. The words turn blurry when her eyes fill with tears. Someone tells her to cowboy up._

_She doesn’t know what that means._

‘No,’ Aaron says, his hand on her cheek, ‘you’re doing great. You’re clever.’

_The teacher looks at her with an raised eyebrow, ‘that’s… yes, that’s right. Excellent, 16051990. Who taught you that?’ The teacher-_

‘Tell me your name,’ Aaron demands, breaking the memory.

‘16051990.’

‘ _No_. I remembered it for you. Tell me your name.’

She closes her eyes for a moment, drowning. ‘Alison. It’s Alison.’

‘And don’t you forget,’ he says softly. ‘I want you to meet my team.’

The girl pales and stumbles back, out of his reach. The _horror_ makes them both sick to the stomach. The eyes, now vibrant blue once more, are wide in fear.

_‘Team alpha moving in.’ Heavy boots on stairs before hands snatch her brother away from her._

Hotch narrows his eyes and twists the memory. He hasn’t done it often, dreams and memories are such fiddle things beneath his hands, slippery and unstable, and his control isn’t usually enough to be able to manipulate some-one’s thoughts. But now he reaches out and _twists_.

_Plastic sunglasses slide down her nose, making Spencer laugh. Reid on the phone with Morgan, mouth grinning around the pen clenched between his teeth. Hotch feeding her memories about his team, engulfing them in dreams of consciousness, drenched in blood and tears, but always warm to their touch._

‘Okay,’ Alison breathes, opening her eyes again to break the surface again. ‘Okay, fine. I’m fine.’

‘Spencer will be there.’

‘I know, I can feel him.’

Hotch nods, ‘if it start to feel like it’s too much, tell me. We can meet them another time.’

‘No. We already met them once. We can do it again.’

_Hotch, nervous and eager, waiting outside David Rossi’s office for his job interview. Hotch looking up from a file to see Morgan following Gideon around the BAU on his first day. Garcia refusing to meet his eye, chained to the table with an angry and fragile look in her eye. JJ who refuses to bring him coffee, dumping ten files on his desk instead with a sweet smile and a reminder that she isn’t a personal assistant, thank you very much. Spencer, unsure and shy, bumping into Morgan on his second day, blushing when the other man leers at him and calls him sweet nothings just to see the other man squirm._

‘Easy as breathing,’ Hotch agrees.

The team is still waiting by the fence, most with stunned looks on their faces. They’ve never seen Hotch so tactile before.

Alison doesn’t meet their eyes, just stares at the grass before her.

‘I’d like to introduce-‘

‘You’re wearing the shoes!’

Alison looks up to see Garcia  and blushes scarlet. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you like them?’ Garcia asks eagerly. ‘I picked the color! I knew they would match your hair color, I saw it on the security feed,’ she suddenly glances at Hotch nervously, ‘which.. which I wasn’t supposed to look at, but… You look great! Hello!’

‘Hi,’ Alison smiles a little and at Aaron’s mental nudge holds out her hand for Garcia to shake. ‘Aaron calls me Alison. My number is 16051990.’

‘Hi Ali!’ Garcia gushes, ‘my name is Penny!’ she reaches out to her hand.

‘ _Don’t_!’

Her hand is slapped away by Morgan, who’s always _steady_ , _loyal_ , _fierce_ in Aaron’s memories. Alison takes a step back and glances up at him. His eyes are _anger_.

 


	12. We're no teenager.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'She's just a kid, man.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I fell out of love with this a long time ago and kind of forgot about it.   
> It suddenly crossed my mind again late last night, so I wrote this chapter on the fly while waiting for my bus. It's the Christmas holidays, so I'm writing a million things at once. One more can't hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

They are sitting on the bleacher by the left side of the field. Him and Morgan, shoulders not quite brushing but close enough so everyone knows they’re not just colleagues on a business trip. Aaron watches how readers run their laps. Some don’t even reach the finish line, crashing to the ground in a heap of wasted-away muscles and too thin limbs. Dull eyes occasionally drawn to him, heads perking up in sudden interest, but their inquisitions are shot down by the hired readers at the edges of the fields.

He doesn’t pay it any mind. Readers are always drawn to him first, over the rest of the team. He’s the only one who can weakly push them out, fumbling to build feeble walls which only draws more attention. He’s a one. Too weak, but strong enough to be noticed.

Instead, he looks down to where Alison is sitting with the rest of his team. Garcia and JJ are chatting, their voices, so light and cheerful, carry over the pitch. Rossi occasionally budges in with a snarky reply which causes the corners of Reid’s mouth to quirk upwards. The girl, his girl, doesn’t say anything. Her lips are pressed into a nervous line. Dirty fingernails scratch at her new shoes, raking over the fabric and following the dark lines which spell out the brand’s name. Unfamiliar and foreign to her, just like the people surrounding her now, but also not because she knows about them.

That doesn’t make her more comfortable, however. She hides behind Reid and her own hair. When JJ tries to ask her something, she pretends not to hear.

He lets her. There’s no point in pushing manners now, when the girl barely knows how a civil conversation works, how any conversation works. Her mind is a jumble of new things. The academy doesn’t only teach her how the law works, what is expected of her, how she will be punished should she fail, but it also teaches her what friends are, enemies, what life outside a prison or mental institution is like.

Morgan shifts and grunts, trying to find the right way to start the conversation. ‘I’m sorry, man,’ he mumbles as he watches how a reader fails to catch a ball on the pitch. ‘It’s just… she’s a _kid_.’

Aaron doesn’t agree. They can hardly remember the time they were a little girl. The voice of their mother has gone from their memories and their father is nothing more than a booming laugh and strong hands lifting them to shoulders. Their brother is much clearer, nothing like Sean, and surrounded by memories of screaming children, heads to walls, four nails chosen.

Alison hasn’t been a child since that man grabbed her and her brother both. Not since she had made him cut his own throat.

He’s not proud of that. He wishes it had never happened, of course, not to her and not to any of the other kids. But the little girl, the kid in her, had died with the man. She’s young still, volatile and naive in ways he can’t even fathom, but she’s no longer a child. Not a woman, either, though. She’s hardened in the way that she doesn’t flinch at the sight of blood but childish in that she won’t step on any cracks on the sidewalk.

Perhaps, no matter how sick it makes him, she’s not even human anymore.

‘How could you do that to her, man?’

Aaron looks at his friend. He now know that the anger had been brought forth by shock and concern for the teenager. It causes him to almost smile, remembering why he cares so deeply for this team. They make people theirs without even knowing them.

Alison ghosts in the back of his mind. Nervously skittering around memories of JJ and Garcia, hiding deep within thoughts concerning Reid, burying herself in his calm that is always lured out by the presence of this friends. He gently nudges her away when she tries to listen in on his conversation with Morgan, not needing her to understand the words and lets her taste their comfortable mood, anger all but gone.

‘I’m not expecting you to understand,’ Aaron tells Morgan.

‘Because you think I’m too stupid to, or because there’s no logical reason for you to choose her?’

Aaron disregards the first immediately. That is never an option with Morgan. The second… well, that’s the truth of it, he supposes. Or maybe…

‘I didn’t even choose her,’ Aaron says. ‘She choose me. We met a long time ago and she remembered me.’

‘I’ve read her file.’ Morgan looks at him with dark eyes. ‘I know your team found her, saved her life. Of course she tried to stay with you when you were the only one who wasn’t afraid to give her a little comfort. But that’s gratitude, hero-worshipping, maybe. It’s not the kind of loyalty you can rely on now. She’ll find out that she’s just one of the many.’

‘She’s not, though.’ Aaron looks at the teenager with the red hair, hiding behind his youngest subordinate. ‘She’s unique.’

Morgan shakes his head a little, a frown marring his forehead. ‘A teenager at the BAU? You think that’s a good idea? She’s not going to be impartial and she’s not going to hold up, Hotch. You’re going to run her into the ground.’

‘No.’ He watches how Alison stares at her shoes. How the gaze slowly wanders to Reid’s shoes. The same model, different colors. She reaches out and touches the fabric, light blue, and finds out that no matter the difference in color, they still feel the same. Reid looks down, startles when he feels fingers on his shoes, probing and stroking, but doesn’t comment. Nor pulls his feet out of reach. ‘She’s holding up right now and this isn’t even _her_ yet. I don’t know how to explain it. What you see now is a timid, frightened teenager, but that’s just because everything is new and foreign. Wait until she gets a hold on this new world.’ Hotch smiles, his feelings melting into pride and curious anticipation, a nervous energy that is raw power when matured. ‘Just you wait and see what we’ll be like then.’

A hesitant smile flickers over his friend’s face, ‘your eyes,’ he points out.

They’re blue whenever Hotch smiles.

Then Morgan sighs and rubs at the back of his head, ‘okay, fine, say she’ll manage to do what we do. I get that she ain’t like us, but… It’s a _girl_ , man. No matter her mental capacities, she’s a _teenage girl_. I’ve read the folders, I read the scientific journals, okay? Your minds are merging. Your feelings, man, they’re… You won’t be able to hide from her, right?’

‘I could,’ Aaron contradicts. ‘It’s not easy, but if I want her to stay out of something, she will.’

‘Oh come on,’ Morgan scoffs. ‘A teenager and a five. Your mind and heart is going to be turned upside down and inside out whenever she wants to.’

‘The bond is based on mutual respect and trust,’ the unit chief says but it sounds like he’s quoting from a leaflet.

‘Teenagers always poke their noses where it doesn’t belong.’ Morgan shifts and looks down at the girl in question. ‘You really want to confront her with the feelings grown men have? Adults? The memories you have of Haley?’

Aaron gives him a sharp look. ‘She’s visited thousands of my crime scenes. I don’t think she’s going to be disturbed by the fact that I loved my wife.’

‘Maybe not,’ Morgan admits. ‘But are you going to be disturbed by the fact that she knows? You’re one of the most private people I know. Hell, we’ve worked together for over a decade and I only found out last week that you like the Beatles, man.’

Dark eyes flicker to his friend. Cold and calculating. ‘Is that knowing me? That I like the Beatles and take my coffee black? I don’t remember which team you support and I need JJ to remind me whenever your birthday comes up, but I know you, Morgan. I know you because I know why you go home for your mother’s birthday every year, how much your family means to you, what kind a man you are, why you hunt monsters. And you know me, too. Far better than you might even realize. You’re right, I am a private person, but you didn’t know about the Beatles because I don’t care whether you know about that. I want you to know about Jack. Haley. The concerns I have over this team. And you know all that, because I trust you.’ He watches how Alison is now fidgeting with the hem of Rossi’s jeans, the rough fabric strange against her fingertips. The Italian is looking down at her with a fond expression on his face. ‘Not just as my co-worker but as my friend.’

Morgan sighs. ‘I know, it’s just… She’s a child. How is she ever going to understand stuff like you and Haley? Like the reaper? Buford?’

‘Because I understand. She’s not alone.’

Together they watch how Rossi says something to the teenager. Alison goes rigid and still. Curious blue eyes behind red hair, almost drowning in her clothing. Pale lips curl into a hesitant smile and then form the word; _denim_ , for the first time in her life.

But she knows what it is, because Aaron has known all his life and she knows how heavy it gets when you jump into a pool while wearing it on a hot summer afternoon even though she’s never felt it. He has. He knows and now they know and she knows too.

‘She’s pretty,’ Morgan comments after a long silence.

A flash of possessiveness, of protection, from deep within his chest causes Alison’s gaze to snap towards them. Worry trickles through the bond. Aaron pushes it aside with a hasty apology and promise to keep his emotions under wraps.

Morgan grins at him, ‘what’s going to happen when teenage boys start entering the picture?’

‘They won’t chase her,’ Aaron says, ‘I carry two guns.’

‘What if she chases them?’ The dark-skinned agent laughs at the micro-expression of shock on his friend’s face. ‘Oh man, that is _priceless_. Are you ready for suddenly finding yourself thinking; that boy is kinda cute?’ He hoots when Aaron glares at him.

‘We can separate our feelings and thoughts when we want to.’

Alison gets up, jumps to her feet and walks up the bleachers towards them. The blue eyes regard Morgan warily. She glances at Aaron, ‘are you okay? You felt like Jack going off to school, a bit.’

Morgan laughs, leaning back on his elbows, ‘good job on that separating, Hotch. Thought we were supposed to be experts on compartmentalizing.’ Then he sobers a little, meeting the wary gaze of the teenager who now hides partly behind Aaron’s shoulder. ‘Hi there. I’m sorry about earlier, Alison. My name is Derek Morgan.’

‘We know,’ the girl mutters. ‘You call Reid pretty boy sometimes.’

‘I do,’ Morgan says slowly as if he doesn’t quite understand the significance of that.

‘Kid, too. JJ California petite. You always give Garcia new names.’

Morgan glances at Aaron for help.

The unit chief hides a smile in the blueness of his eyes, ‘she finds the concept of nicknames fascinating.’

‘Then you joined the right team,’ Morgan laughs.

Alison gives him a hesitant grin, then reaches over and pulls at Aaron’s arm until the older man drapes it over her shoulders, allowing her to sink into his side. It solidifies their bond, echoes of feelings mixing together. For now, Aaron allows it.

‘Yeah,’ they say. ‘We did.’


End file.
